


Bad Habit

by Bi_Biblichor, VeronicaFerCard



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bisexual Steve Rogers, Canon-Typical Violence, Coming Out, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Medical Trauma, Mutual Pining, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Steve Rogers-centric, occasional casual domesticity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-11
Updated: 2020-10-17
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:55:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 57,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26951764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bi_Biblichor/pseuds/Bi_Biblichor, https://archiveofourown.org/users/VeronicaFerCard/pseuds/VeronicaFerCard
Summary: How many times can someone watch the person they love leave before they break? Bucky has the bad habit of going away, and Steve... Steve’s bad habit is not telling people what’s on his mind. Instead, he lets it eat at him, swallowing his feelings because he can’t just ask Bucky to stay, and trying not to dwell too much on the fact that he might still be government property. After all, as long as Bucky is okay and Steve can do his job, it doesn’t really matter, does it?
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, Pepper Potts/Tony Stark
Comments: 229
Kudos: 251
Collections: Not Another Stucky Big Bang 2020





	1. Real poster boy for recovery, I am

**Author's Note:**

> Title from the song Bad Habit, by Ben Platt which inspired this story.  
> This story has a [**playlist**](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4UzMfoOIPp9irglvf19tXb?si=ovZqV7KXQbOJpjCXphBCjA) which I fully recommend listening to while reading for maximum feels!
> 
>  **Featuring:** All the gay longing. Oblivious Steve Rogers and his vintage emotional baggage. Snarky Bucky. Drama Queen Steve. Sam being an amazing bro. Natasha looking out for her dumbass friend. And Pepper as the professional PR queen that she is. Also, according to my lovely beta, enough frustration over these two nonagenarian idiots to give you traumatic brain injury from repeatedly banging your head on the nearest surface.  
> In a nutshell, Steve and Bucky share one vintage brain cell between them. And said brain cell is now in possession of the Smithsonian. 
> 
> Words are (not always) said, feelings are felt (and promptly repressed). It’s pain for the whole family :D  
> \---  
>  **Acknowledgements:**  
>  I’ve been writing stucky fics for a few years now, but this is my first time in a bang, and it was… the best thing that happened this year! Not only have I learned to take my time with a story, to work on it until it’s reached its best form, I’ve also finally had the opportunity to have a beta to help me with that. And, in finding a beta for this fic, I also met an amazing person, and, between back and forth emails, movie nights, fic recs, and a to watch list that lowkey scares the both of us, I’m pleased to say I’ve gained a new best friend! [The Confused Flamingo](https://anemotionallyunstablecreature.tumblr.com/), I know I’ve said this before, but I’ll say it again now for everyone to see: thank you! It was wonderful working with you on this fic! Thank you for your input, helping make sense of my made-up science and better developing scenes and characters when needed. I’ve now been spoiled forever and you’re contractually obligated to look over all my fics from now on, sorry, I don’t make the rules ;).
> 
> I also have to thank the wonderful [Bi_Biblichor](https://moodbotany.tumblr.com/). I never had art done for my fics before, and I’m beyond honored to have your wonderful drawings bringing life to my story! Thank you for choosing me! Everyone should definitely check more of her work on Tumblr!

Life has always been a complicated succession of unpredictable events for Steve. It is constantly throwing curveballs his way every time he thinks he has a good grip on whatever is going on. In spite of that, one thing is for sure: Steve has never been bored a single day of his life, not even when he was bedridden sick because, even then, he was fighting to stay alive. He’s always had to fight for what he wanted. Things have seldom been simply handed to him, and nothing has ever been free of charge, so he’s learned to take what he can get, never ask too much and enjoy things while they last. Steve is not going to look a gift horse in the mouth because, with his luck, it might not have any teeth at all.

The knock on his door doesn’t startle him, despite the late hour. Steve isn’t even close to sleep when he hears it. He has been obsessively going through the Hydra files Natasha dumped on the internet, desperate to find anything that might clue him to where he could find Bucky. 

It’s been three months. Any trail he had has long run cold. Sam had a life he had to go back to, and he has been subtly trying to tell Steve that he should also drop it, at least for a while, because it is clear that Bucky will not let himself be found unless he wants to.

And well, Steve thinks as he opens the door to find his bedraggled best friend, standing in what is rapidly becoming a pool of his own blood beneath his feet on the other side of the door, _well_ , Sam might just have a point.

For a moment, Steve freezes. He can’t do a single thing but stare at Bucky’s gray-blue eyes as they look back at him with something Steve can’t decipher. A mixture of fear, sorrow, and mistrust seems to radiate from Bucky. Nevertheless, something brought him here, so Steve chooses to ignore the latter and hang on to the flicker of hope burning inside of him, telling him that Bucky remembers.

There are seventy years worth of words that Steve wants to spill out, but his tongue feels glued to the roof of his mouth. He doesn’t even dare to open it for fear that, if he does, he’s going to break into about a million pieces and no amount of science will be able to put him back together this time. It’s better nothing comes out than he says the wrong thing and sends Bucky away again.

So Steve simply stands there, like an idiot, until Bucky starts to sway on his feet and, only then, by some divine intervention, does Steve finally snap out of it. He takes a step forward, and it’s just in time to catch Bucky as he begins to tumble. Steve takes hold of his forearms, and it’s a testament to how out of it Bucky is, that he doesn’t say a single thing as Steve manhandles him, half carrying, half dragging him inside, supporting most of Bucky’s weight while they slowly make their way to the sofa.

The first sound that comes from Bucky is an involuntary whimper that escapes him when Steve helps him lower himself down onto the couch. Steve crouches in front of him and looks up to find Bucky’s eyes closed, head thrown back. There are cuts and bruises on his face and the beginning of a shiner on his left eye. It throws Steve off. Bucky is a skilled fighter. According to the files Steve has memorized over the last few months, Bucky has been highly trained for the past fifty years. Steve’s own memories, both past and recent, know for a fact Bucky is more than capable of holding his own in a fight, any fight. So why he would allow anyone to get this close to him, to do this much damage, is beyond Steve. But that doesn’t matter now, because Bucky is growing paler by the second and Steve’s hands are stained red when he pulls them back from Bucky’s sides.

There are many questions floating around Steve’s brain, but the first thing he actually manages to ask the most important person in his life after so many years apart is an urgent: “Where is this coming from?” Steve holds his bloodied hands to Bucky’s line of sight even though his eyes are barely open. He gets a grunt in what sounds like Russian in response, and goddammit, Steve wants to shake him. “Bucky!” He calls, harsher. Bucky’s blood is already pooling on the leather couch. “Where are you bleeding from?”

“Everywhere,” Bucky finally groans after another small eternity. His eyes are tightly shut now, and Steve takes the opportunity to study him. His hair is longer than the last time Steve saw him, and it’s now covering half of Bucky’s sweaty face with greasy locks. Steve reaches out and brushes it aside, tucking the strands behind Bucky’s ears. Bucky’s breath stutters a little, but if it’s a result of Steve’s fingers brushing his face or the general pain he’s in, Steve can’t tell.

“Gonna need you to be more specific before you die on me here, Buck,” Steve says quietly.

Bucky shuffles a bit on the couch as he opens the denim jacket he’s wearing and pulls the dirty t-shirt he has underneath it up his torso, revealing a myriad of scars, some old and others brand new, as well as a bleeding gunshot wound and two nasty gashes on both his sides.

“Oh, God,” Steve whispers, mostly to himself.

“Whatever they gave me,” Bucky mumbles under his breath, “not as good as yours, huh…”

He’s right. Steve doesn’t have a single scar on his body, none of the needle tracks from his endless hospital visits, the scraps he got from back alley fights, or the calluses on his hands from holding pencils and paintbrushes the exact same way for years. It was like his body was completely erased by the serum, though Bucky once said Steve’s nose was still crooked. Despite the fact that Bucky is clearly just as strong as Steve, they’re not completely alike, while Steve will never have scars again in life, Bucky is peppered with them, even though he seems to heal faster than normal too, some of them are just too deep to completely go away.

But even with the healing factor, Bucky is still going to need to have the bullet pulled out of him, and a few stitches too, for good measure. So Steve stands up to go and find the first aid kit he’s sure Sam put somewhere in the bathroom.

“Wait here, I’ll be right back,” he says in passing, walking out of the room, only to hear Bucky snidely remark as he goes.

“Sir, yes, sir.”

Steve looks over his shoulder in time to catch Bucky’s lazy salute from where he’s sprawled out on the sofa.

“Jerk,” Steve shoots back automatically as he heads down the corridor and into the bathroom. He finds the first aid kit in the cabinet under the sink, and sends a silent thank you to God or whatever force of the universe brought Sam Wilson into his life.

Steve walks back into the living room to find Bucky exactly where he left him, only this time his eyes are open and staring vacantly at Steve’s coffee table. Steve kneels down in front of him again, and starts to unload the contents of the first aid box on the table until he finds a pair of tweezers that seem long enough to fish the bullet out of Bucky. He finds a bottle of rubbing alcohol and is using it to disinfect the tweezers when Bucky’s knee nudges his. Steve looks up to find Bucky’s eyes on him.

Bucky throws him a lazy smirk, so reminiscent of the ones he used to give Steve when they were just two dumb kids in Brooklyn looking for trouble, it almost gives Steve whiplash.

“Punk,” Bucky says, pure and simple, and it sounds so much like home Steve wants to cry. He can’t afford to do that now, though. He needs to stop Bucky from bleeding out on his couch first, then Steve might give himself a couple of minutes to freak out. “If memory serves,” the irony dripping from Bucky’s voice pulls him back to the moment, “this used to be the other way around.” He gestures back and forth between them; not that he had to, Steve knows what he means. It used to be Bucky patching him up, though he would do it with a lot more scowling and cursing at Steve’s recklessness.

“Yeah,” Steve agrees, setting to work.

Whoever shot Bucky must not have been very good at it, because they managed to avoid his organs altogether. Steve lightly runs a piece of gauze around the wound so he can get a better look at what he’s working on. Bucky’s body is tense under his hands but, to Steve’s ever growing unease over everything that has been done to Bucky, he remains utterly silent.

So Steve works swiftly and quietly, focusing on what he’s doing and the sound of Bucky’s breathing, which seems to come in a regular pattern after a while. He can’t quite suppress the hiss that escapes him when Steve finally pulls the bullet out, but by the time Steve is done stitching up both the bullet wound and the gashes on his sides, he looks up to find that some color has already started to come back to Bucky’s face, and he no longer looks like he’s about to die on Steve.

With a sigh, Steve decides to give his complaining knees a rest and drops down on the floor in front of Bucky, legs bent so he can rest his elbows on them. He studies Bucky for a moment, still wondering what brought him here after months of hiding, after he saved Steve from drowning only to run away and basically avoid him like the plague. But Steve doesn’t want to spook Bucky or push him away with what he’s sure would pretty much sound like an interrogation, so he settles on something Bucky might actually give him an answer for.

Steve himself barely made it through a fight with him, he can’t imagine how anyone—especially if they were not enhanced—could get the upper hand on Bucky like this.

“That’s a hell of a shiner you got there, Buck,” Steve starts tentatively. “Should I have seen the other guy?”

He realizes the mistake as soon as he says it. Diplomacy has never been Steve’s forte anyway, and his words only serve to make Bucky shut off as he glares down at him.

“I didn’t go on a killing spree,” he snarls, pulling his bloodied t-shirt down.

“That’s not what I said,” Steve protests, desperate to take his words back.

“No,” Bucky agrees, but before Steve can get too comfortable he adds, “it’s what you’re implying.”

“I’m sorry, Buck. I didn’t mean to. I just—”

But Bucky is not interested in his excuses and he stops him before Steve can stumble even more on his ramblings.“Don’t worry about it, Steve,” he says quietly, resigned to the opinion he clearly thinks Steve has of him.

And Steve can’t help it. He freezes for the second time tonight. He hasn’t heard his name coming from Bucky’s lips in such a long time, he was worried he might have forgotten how it sounded so much better in Bucky’s voice than when other people say it. Steve wants to cry. He wants to sob and hold Bucky as tight and as close as he can against himself, because Steve misses him. Steve misses him so much it hurts to look at him now, like looking at the bright blue sky after spending too long in the dark. Steve swallows it all down, though, he doesn’t say anything, because this is what he does best, hide his feelings and pretend his heart doesn’t beat faster when Bucky’s close. And Steve is damn good at it too, after all, he’s been doing this his whole life.

He shakes his head, offering Bucky an apologetic look.

“I’m sorry, Buck,” he repeats. There are about a million reasons for Steve to say those words to him anyway, and he will say them again and again for the rest of his life if he has to.

Bucky shrugs dismissively, though he’s no longer glaring daggers at him, which Steve takes as a win. “It’s fine.”

“Where have you been, Bucky?” Steve asks quietly, unable to help himself.

“Around,” Bucky answers, but it’s too quick, and, instead of looking at Steve, he says it as he watches his own fingers playing with the hem of his t-shirt.

“I—I feel like there is so much we should be telling each other,” Steve confesses after a long pause in which they both do their best to avoid each other’s eyes. Things seem awkward in a way they have never been between them, and it makes Steve feel like he’s walking on eggshells.

“But when it comes right down to it,” Bucky fills in in the wake of his silence, “there isn’t really that much to say, right?” He looks at Steve from under thick lashes and a curtain of hair, which he shyly brushes away with his metal fingers. “We both know what happened. There’s no use reliving it.”

“Then why—” Steve hesitates, stopping before he can finish the question. He promised himself, long ago, right after he came home from the hospital that he wouldn’t acuse Bucky of running away. He wouldn’t ask for anything. He couldn’t. Because God only knows the state Bucky would be in after everything he’d been through, and Steve would never be so selfish as to demand that Bucky stays by his side, just because Steve misses him. 

For his part, Bucky seems more than okay with letting whatever Steve was about to ask go unsaid. Instead, he takes Steve’s silence as an opportunity to voice his own concerns. “I’m the one who should apologize.”

Steve immediately shakes his head.

“Buck, no.”

Bucky doesn’t even hear him. “Your friends,” he says, his brows knit in a troubled frown, “ _you_ … I—I could have—”

“It’s not your fault, none of this is.” If anything it’s Steve who’s to blame. He was the one who let Bucky fall, who couldn’t be there for him the _one_ time Bucky needed him to have his back the way he always had Steve’s. And Steve, with his new body and all the strength he had ever wished for couldn’t even hold him. There’s nothing that Steve could say or do that would take the weight of guilt from his shoulders. “You saved me, Buck. You pulled me from the river.” Bucky blinks at him, surprised. “I know it was you.” No one else would have had the strength to get Steve’s dead weight out of the water. No one else was even there as far as he knows.

“You could’ve died that day and I…” Bucky surges forward, his flesh hand reaching out as if he were about to touch Steve’s face, but then he halts, eyes widening slightly before he pulls back. Steve blinks at him, realizing belatedly that he’s holding his breath, so he lets it out in a shaky exhale, filing the whole thing away in his mind as wishful thinking, while Bucky leans back against the sofa. “I'm sorry anyway,” he mutters with a shrug. 

Steve offers him a tiny, anguished smile. “I’m sorry too.” He scrubs his hands over his face, suddenly tired. The stubble on his cheeks scratches at his palms. Steve can’t remember the last time he shaved and, in all honesty, he doesn’t really care. “God,” he sighs. “God, Buck, are you really here?” _Are you here to stay?_ He wants so desperately to ask, but he can’t.

“Not for long,” Bucky answers quietly. “Listen, Steve—” He tries to get up from the couch then, but his body is clearly still putting itself back together, and his movements are stiff and awkward. After some more shuffle, Bucky gives up trying to stand, falling back down with an annoyed huff.

Steve smirks at him. So much for the tough guy routine. “I’m listening,” he says, batting his lashes with the most angelic expression he can muster. Bucky glares at him. Steve’s features soften into something he’s sure can only be described as earnest. “I’m serious, I _am_ listening,” Steve assures him. “You can stay here for as long as you want.” He worries at his lower lip, nervous that he might be putting too much pressure on Bucky too soon. 

The knots in his stomach are not eased by the look Bucky is giving him, like he’s not quite sure if he can trust Steve or not, which just makes everything hurt even more for how wrong it feels. Steve has always had Bucky’s trust, even when he did the stupidest things, Bucky would just roll his eyes, bitch and moan the whole time but be there, right beside him all the same. Now he doesn’t even seem to trust that Steve would offer him shelter when he’s wounded.

“You’d be safe here,” Steve mumbles, more as an attempt to break the uncomfortable silence than to actually convince Bucky of staying. Maybe he shouldn’t actually trust Steve; after all, Steve did let him fall.

“I, uh…” Bucky starts, hesitant, only to stop and lick his lips as his eyes avoid Steve’s. After a second or two he clears his throat, then tries again. “Could I get a glass of water?”

It’s such a normal thing to ask that Steve is momentarily stunned into silence, until his brain finally registers the words and Steve lets out a breath he’s almost sure he has been holding since he unmasked Bucky on the bridge in DC. He offers Bucky a smile so big his face hurts a little. “Sure thing, Buck,” he says happily before getting up to fetch Bucky his water.

When he comes back, Steve doesn’t go back to the floor. He passes the glass to Bucky and takes the opportunity to sit on the sofa next to him, only keeping enough distance not to invade Bucky’s personal space. Not that it makes a lot of difference in the end, when Steve can practically feel Bucky tensing up beside him anyway. 

Steve tries not to be bothered by it.

He shifts his focus to something else.

He wonders if Bucky is hungry right now. Steve does a quick mental inventory of the contents of his fridge and pantry, coming soon to the conclusion that there is nothing he could readily offer Bucky. And Steve is pretty sure that if he tries anything more complex than opening a jar at the moment, he’s going to burn down the entire building. His ma always said people shouldn’t cook when their head’s not in it. 

Thankfully, he thinks, not without a hint of sarcasm, they are in the future.

“I could, uh, order us something to eat,” Steve blurts out, “if you—if you’d like?”

Bucky shakes his head. “It’s fine,” he says dismissively. 

And Steve, well… he’s not exactly known as someone who lets things go.

“I know this is a loaded question,” he starts, watching Bucky slowly sip his water, “but are you doing alright? I mean, you been eating enough? Cos... if you’re anything like me... I know sometimes we might need that extra helping and it’s not always easy—” Steve knows he’s rambling, but, for the life of him, he can’t seem to shut his big mouth up, and he can feel his cheeks heating up, and God, _please_ , help him stop. 

“I’m alright,” Bucky says, offering him a small smile as he puts Steve out of his misery. “I barely skip any meals too;” His smile turns self-deprecating then, and it sours something in Steve’s mouth. “Real poster boy for recovery, I am.”

Steve doesn't know how to respond to that, so he just nods. Part of him wants to tell Bucky the same stuff Steve himself hears from Sam all the time about recovery; how it’s never as pretty as it seems to be in theory, how it’s never a straight line. He wants to address the guilt he can just see bleeding around the edges of Bucky, but the mere thought of it is way too hypocritical for Steve’s liking. So instead, he changes the subject.

“Sleeping okay too?”

That gets a loud snort out of Bucky. He finishes drinking the water and sets the glass on the coffee table before turning his head to look at Steve with a raised eyebrow. “Are you?”

“Sometimes the bed is too soft,” Steve confesses quietly. He walked right into that one, he can admit that. “And it makes no sound when I turn around,” he contemplates. “Which is funny, cos I used to be about a hundred pounds lighter and—”

“Your old bed would squeal like a dying animal every time you moved,” Bucky completes, and it’s Steve’s time to snort, amused that Bucky would remember the squeaky bed of all things.

“I couldn’t adjust the goddamn pillow without waking you up.” They share a grin—both lost in the memory—but it doesn’t last very long, nothing good seems to these days, and suddenly, he’s avoiding Steve’s eyes again, frowning at the coffee table. “What is it?” 

Bucky shakes his head, still not looking at him. “I don’t remember what happened to it. I know it was gone before I shipped out to England.” He glances at Steve with a frustrated look on his face. “But I can’t remember how.”

“Do you want me to tell you?” Steve asks, and it takes a couple of heartbeats until Bucky makes up his mind and nods. “We broke it. Winter night. It was cold as hell and the heater had given up on us. You were afraid I’d get pneumonia again, so you had the brilliant idea of sharing body heat.” Steve feels a blush creeping up his cheeks at the memory. He ignores it. “Well, long story short, I told you you didn’t have to, you insisted, we tried to find a comfortable position and I ended up elbowing you in the ribs as you kneed me in the kidneys ‘til the bed had enough.” 

Steve leaves out the part where the butterflies in his stomach were doing summersaults, as they always did when Bucky held him, because, well, if Bucky didn’t need to know it then, he definitely doesn’t need this information now. He’s already giving Steve a funny look as it is. 

Steve scratches at the back of his neck.

“Anyway…” he drawls before nodding at Bucky’s empty glass. “Want some more?”

“I’m good, thanks.”

“Okay.” And then, because Steve doesn’t know what else to say—except for the wrong thing, apparently, and he doesn’t want to chance that again—he settles for the first thing his eyes land on. “Wanna watch some TV?”

Bucky shrugs. “Sure,” he says nonchalantly, like he has nothing better to do. Perhaps he really doesn’t. Steve wouldn’t know.

And that’s how Steve finds himself struggling to stay awake, a couple of hours later, as they make their way through what’s apparently a marathon of a series about sea life. The narrator’s voice is deep and soothing, and, coupled with the calm soundtrack, it’s been rapidly lulling both of them to sleep.

Bucky has been scaring himself awake every time his head drops as he doses, and Steve would have told him to just lie down already, except he isn’t in a much better position, and speaking seems almost sacrilegious now, with the quiet that has settled between them. So Steve just watches the sea lions, and, occasionally, Bucky too, because both seem like elements that ought to be outside of his reality, and yet, they are here now; Steve can see them, hear them. 

Showered by the blue light from the television, Bucky is almost like a ghost, a spirit from the stories Steve’s mom used to tell the two of them when they were little. But it doesn’t scare Steve; much like those stories, it’s like he has been blessed with a visit. And that’s the last thing he thinks as his eyes slip shut and he doesn’t bother opening them back.


	2. He might be trying to find his way back home

By the time Steve opens his eyes again, daylight is already filtering through the curtains, the television is off, and Bucky is nowhere to be seen. Steve doesn’t bother calling out for him; he knows the apartment is empty. Part of him wants to rationalize that he shouldn’t have expected any different. Bucky came to him because he was wounded, and Steve was the only person he could be certain not to shoot him on sight; rationally, Steve understands that. And yet, disappointment still leaves a bitter taste at the back of his mouth when Steve looks at the brownish spot of Bucky's dried blood on the couch. 

He spends a good portion of the morning trying to scrub off the stain while replaying the events of last night over and over again in his mind. Bucky was here. Steve touched him, he was real. Steve has half a mind of leaving the sofa stained just so he can prove to himself he wasn’t dreaming when he heard his name coming out of Bucky’s mouth for the first time in God knows how long.

Logically, of course, Steve cannot do that. Not now that he’s about to move back to New York, anyway. He can’t afford to leave behind traces of Bucky for what is left of SHIELD or Hydra to find. Bucky trusted him enough to come to him, to have his back, and Steve damn well will this time.

He wishes he had had the foresight to tell Bucky he’s leaving DC in about a week, but the thought didn’t even cross Steve’s mind yesterday. He halts the furious scrubbing, dropping the abused rag he’s been using and letting out a shaky breath as he rests his wet hands on his thighs.

Bucky was  _ here _ .

“ _ God _ ,” Steve sighs as his knees buckle and he sits heavily on the coffee table behind him. He runs a hand through his hair, pulling a little at the back in frustration. Why didn’t he tell Bucky he was moving? What if he comes looking for Steve again and is met by the very people he’s clearly running from? All because Steve didn’t fucking say anything.

_ No. _ Steve shakes his head in an attempt to clear it. No. Bucky is smart. He is well trained and he knows how to take care of himself. He is going to be alright, of that Steve can be certain. It doesn’t change the fact that he still won’t know where Steve is, if he comes back.

Steve chews on his lower lip, looking around the apartment. It’s not like he can leave a note on the coffee table with his new address and a phone number for Bucky to contact him. But there has to be something he can do. His eyes wander around aimlessly, through the lifeless wallpaper, the television that is way too big for the overall size of the living room and that he rarely watches anyway, and the stack of books, which came with the apartment, and he’s never read. All the things SHIELD — maybe Hydra too, who knows — thought Steve would like or be interested in. 

He scoffs.

It’s all proof of how the people in this century don’t know the first thing about him. Unless he’s drawing, Steve has never had the patience required for this kind of activity. Sitting down for too long was always the death of him. It’s the reason he started sketching in the first place, he needed something to do while he was bedridden, even if the only thing he could move around was his hand, it was at least something. Otherwise, Steve would become restless and both his ma and Bucky would threaten to tie him to the bed.

The only thing in the apartment Steve does enjoy and actually uses is the record player, and even then, SHIELD’s selection of records is… not exactly what Steve would have chosen for himself. Most of them being old enough to be considered outdated by the current generation, but not enough to have been from his time, leaving Steve feeling out of place all the same, music-wise. 

They aren’t all bad, though. He has to admit as much.

As he glances at them, Steve plays a little game of trying to guess which is which by looking at the thin sides of the sleeves. He’s sure he can recognize some, such as Elvis Presley, Ray Charles… Frank Sinatra. 

Frank Sinatra.

Steve pauses, his eyes fixed on the blue album as he smiles to himself, an idea taking form in his mind of just how he can tell Bucky where he’s going.

\---

The rest of the week goes by in a flurry of packing up his few possessions — which, admittedly, takes a lot more time than Steve would’ve assumed, considering how little he actually owns — getting rid of things and tidying it all up, so he doesn’t accidentally help Hydra create a new super soldier by leaving a hair comb behind or something.

This whole time, Steve goes to bed late and, in fact, barely sleeps, just in case Bucky might need him again. But he doesn’t come. The days go by, and the only time Steve hears about him is when Sam calls to both encourage Steve not to lose hope and, at the same time, try to convince him to cool it a little once he gets to New York.

“ _ Who knows _ ,” Sam says on the phone once.  _ “Maybe he’s there already, maybe, even subconsciously, he might be trying to find his way back home.” _

Steve can only hope Sam is right. He wants to agree with those words so badly, accept them as true to put his heart at ease and quiet the buzzing in his head that is constantly telling him he’s not doing enough. But in the end, the only consolation Steve is left with is that Sam is not there to see his eyes watering up as he speaks.

All in all, by the end of the week Steve is ready to leave DC. He decided to accept Tony’s offer to fly him to New York at the last minute, only because he felt guilty over firmly declining Stark’s other invite to live in the Tower. Bucky would never be able to reach Steve there, also… it’s still an eyesore and the artist in him refuses to be a part of it. So, when he’s ready, Steve shrugs on the shield, picks up his bags and walks out of the apartment, the sound system quietly playing  _ New York, New York _ on repeat behind him.

He stops at the threshold to throw one last glance at the place over his shoulder.

“See you there, Buck.”


	3. It’s not a favor, it’s a PR miracle

Officially, Sam doesn’t live in New York, let alone in the Avengers Tower. Officially. Off the record, however, he’s basically been here since Steve’s house warming party that he and the rest of the group decided to throw when Steve moved into his new apartment in Brooklyn. He alternates between sleeping in Steve’s guest bedroom and the floor Tony gave him at the Tower when he became an Avenger. Either way, Sam has been constantly around Steve lately, which makes it increasingly harder for Steve to keep up the pretense that his mind is not elsewhere most of the time. Not that the direction of his thoughts would be of any surprise to anyone at this point, though.

Bucky has yet to show up again, which leads to Steve rolling around in his bed at night, wondering if Bucky even got the message he left.

Be that as it may, Steve is still a better liar than people give him credit for.

It’s one of the weekends he’s not allowed to spend alone,  _ moping around _ , as Nat would say. So Sam and Clint have drawn the short straw of who gets to keep him company this time. Steve is not exactly following the story Clint has been telling for the past few minutes, but he smiles and nods at all the right moments, and he’s pretty sure he’s getting away with it too, until, that is, the moment Sam manages to corner him when he goes to the kitchen to get some water.

Sam stares at Steve as he sips.

“What?” Steve chuckles.

“What’s got into you?”

Steve busies himself rinsing and putting the glass back on the rack, then drying out his hands. “I don’t know what you mean,” he says with his back to Sam while he straightens the dish towel on the counter by the sink. 

“Come on, man,” Sam insists. “Don’t play dumb with me, you haven’t heard a word of what Barton’s been saying." Steve’s not proud of it, but he does the awkward shrug he knows makes people feel sorry for him, bringing his shoulders as close to his ears as he can while he tells Sam he hasn’t settled yet, which is not exactly a lie either. It works. Sam immediately takes pity on him, his inquisitive features morphing into understanding. “Told you it would take some time. It’s more than a soft bed here, innit?”

Steve shakes his head in agreement. “Doesn’t feel like home,” he admits. “I know, I _ know _ everything is different, it’s not that. I don’t know what it is...” That’s a lie, of course. Steve knows exactly what,  _ who _ , is missing, and part of him suspects Sam might know it too. Not that he would say it, at least not now. “...but something is missing. And it’s not just a bunch of old buildings.”

“You know, memory plays tricks on us,” Sam says carefully. “They blur into each other with time. It’s already hard for a regular soldier, I can’t imagine how it must be for you. But you know you can always reach out, right?” Steve nods, but it’s too quick and Sam doesn’t buy it. “I’m serious. You have people in your corner.”

“I know, Sam,” Steve tries to reassure him, reaching out to place a hand on Sam’s shoulder and give it a light squeeze. “And I appreciate it, I really do.” He shares a look with Sam. Steve really lucked out meeting him. Then he lets his hand drop back to his side and takes a step back. “The damn mattress, though. Fucking marshmallow.”

Sam barks out a surprised laugh, just like Steve knew he would. It’s a good distraction tactic he learned in the twenty-first century. People are always thrown off when they hear Captain America swear.

\---

The Tower is not exactly one of Steve’s top ten places to spend an afternoon, but he does have to train with his teammates as well as be there for debriefings, press conferences, and other bureaucratic meetings most people don’t suspect come with the job. It’s not like Steve hates coming here, though, not at all. He does enjoy spending time with Clint, Bruce, Thor — when he’s around — Tony, in small doses, and, especially Nat. Out of all of them, she’s the one Steve feels most comfortable with. Sometimes he suspects that’s because the two of them are, at their core, the same person, trying to be what other people expect them to be.

They have learned to trust each other, after everything they’ve been through over the past few months, everything she went through because of  _ him _ . Steve knows that he owes Nat more than he could ever repay her, and he definitely owes her his truth, after she laid hers bare for the whole world to see. After she pulled God knows how many favors to get Bucky’s files, Nat deserves to know he has made contact, that Steve has seen him; and yet, when he comes out of the elevator in the common area and finds her on a cozy bean bag, feet tucked under her body while cradling a mug of steaming tea with both hands, the words just don’t come out.

“Tea?” She raises the mug in offer.

Steve shakes his head. “Thank you,” he says, dropping down on the floor next to her bean bag.

Nat watches him from over the rim of her mug as she takes a sip. Steve braces himself as she lowers it. 

“How are you finding New York?” She finally asks after scrutinizing him for a couple of seconds.

It’s all Steve can do to hold in a snort. Of course, Sam would talk to her before going back to DC. The two of them have the annoying habit of trying to mother Steve behind his back.

“Dazzling,” he deadpans. “All these big buildings and bright lights.”

Nat doesn’t dignify that with an answer. She simply rolls her eyes and goes straight for the neck. “Have you been looking for him?”

Steve shakes his head again, slowly this time, as he picks at the skin around his thumbnail. He doesn’t look at her when he speaks. “Been busy with the move.” He tries to sound indifferent, but Steve’s not sure he hits the mark. He wishes she would drop it.

“You know,” Nat goes on, “Sam has a point.” Yep, definitely missed the mark. “He’ll show up when he’s ready.” Steve hums in acknowledgment, and she goes quiet for a moment. “I understand,” she says softly, after some time, not facing him. “It takes time… to feel like a real person again.”

“Wouldn’t it be easier with some help?” Steve asks genuinely, feeling somewhat desperate all of a sudden. “If you have someone there to remind you?” Had Bucky stayed that day, Steve would have done anything to make him feel human, important,  _ loved _ .

“That’s just it,” Nat tells him, looking up at Steve with a small sad smile on her face. “We often feel like we don’t deserve it.”

Steve wishes he could call bullshit on what she’s saying, but he understands.  _ God _ . He often feels the same. Bucky and Nat, though, they’re different, they were victims. Steve dug his own grave, he doesn’t get to ask for absolution. 

He reaches out for one of her hands. She narrows her eyes at him, but allows him to turn it around so he can place two fingers on her wrist. He feels her pulse for a couple of seconds before letting go.

“Yep,” Steve says with a grin. “Just as I suspected: human.”

Nat shakes her head like she cannot deal with him, but she can’t quite keep the amusement off her face. “You’re full of shit, Rogers.”

Steve laughs. Just like Tony, Natasha doesn’t know how to act when people go sentimental on her. She unfolds her body and stands up, probably to put the mug in the sink. “You know,” she says as she heads to the kitchen, “it’s not like we need someone’s permission to help them. At least not all the time.”

“No,” Steve agrees absently, a metaphorical lightbulb sparking to life in his mind as a plan starts to take shape, “it’s not like we do.”

\---

Steve spends another hour talking about nothing in particular with Natasha, until she gets a text from Clint inviting her for pizza at his place. She extends the offer to Steve but he politely declines. 

Once he gets to the elevator, after leaving Nat, Steve presses up instead of down. When the doors open, he asks Jarvis to take him to Pepper’s office.

“Steve,” she welcomes him at the door with a kiss on the cheek. “What a lovely surprise! I think this is the first time I’ve seen you this far up. What brings you here?”

And that’s his cue to shrug awkwardly, only this time it’s not for show. Steve really has never once been to her office, or even contemplated a visit, and the first time he comes, it’s to ask for a favor. He shoves his hands in his front pockets and tries not to blush too hard from embarrassment. 

“I know, I’m sorry I haven’t visited, I — I can come back later, if it’s a bad time. It’s nothing urgent — ”

“Steve,” she cuts his rambling with a sympathetic smile. “I’m barefoot.” She looks down and he follows her gaze. Her immaculate manicured toes are indeed in immediate contact with the carpet beneath her. He looks back to her face, puzzled. She grins. “It means I’m on a break.”

He scratches at the back of his neck. “If you’re resting...”

“From work, Steve,” she explains with an indulgent smile, “not friends. Besides,” Pepper goes on, turning around and heading to the black leather couch tucked in the left corner of her spacious office. She motions for Steve to join her. “I would’ve asked Jarvis to tell you if I was busy.” She waits for him to take the seat she offers before sitting down in the armchair in front of him. “So, what can I do for you?”

Steve fidgets a little, crossing and uncrossing his arms. He contemplates the best way to broach the subject. He wants to start from the beginning and tell her how much Bucky means to him, but that would take too long and probably not make much sense. So he gets straight to the point. “How much do you know about the Winter Soldier?”

“Not much, I’m afraid.”

Steve wishes he could sugar coat it, but he can’t. Not this part. “He killed Tony’s parents.” He bites his lip and frowns down at his hands. When he looks back up, Pepper is blinking at him like she’s still processing his words. Then she brings a hand to rest at the base of her neck, letting out a tiny  _ oh, _ and Steve’s shoulders instinctively hunch forward. He hangs his head for a moment, hating the fact that he has to say any of this, but knowing there is no other way. “In fact, he’s killed a whole lotta people.”

“Does Tony know?” she asks quietly.

Steve shakes his head. There’s a little voice inside his head — his conscience probably — telling him he’s gone too far, coming to her without saying anything to Tony and dropping this bomb on her head. If he were a better person, Steve would back off, but Pepper is the best at what she does, and this is for Bucky. For him, Steve will never settle for less than the best. He’s gearing himself up to literally start begging for her help when she speaks again.

“I’m sorry, Steve,” Pepper says, her brows knit in confusion. “I don’t understand. Do you — Is this a mission? Are the Avengers going after him?”

“No!” Steve all but shouts in a hurry. “I mean,  _ I _ am looking for him, but not to arrest him.” He takes a shaky breath, running his palms over his jeans. He looks at Pepper and he knows his eyes are pleading with her to understand even as he struggles to make the words come out. “His name is James Buchanan Barnes and he is...”  _ like a part of me _ , “my best friend. He did kill many people, but it wasn’t his fault. Bucky,” Steve says with a timid smile, “that’s what we called him,” he explains. Pepper smiles back at him, but it’s just an automatic reaction, all politeness and no teeth, no actual mirth behind it. “He fell off a train on a mission in 1944, we thought,  _ I _ thought he was dead. I should have looked for him, but I didn’t and Hydra found him. They had already experimented on him with their own version of the serum the first time he’d been captured.” 

Steve glances down and realizes his hands are shaking so he closes them into tight fists. If Pepper noticed, she is graceful enough to pretend she hasn’t. He goes on.

“This time they had him for over seventy years. He’s been tortured and brainwashed until he forgot...  _ everything _ .” Steve’s voice breaks, but Pepper, bless her, simply waits for him until he’s ready again. “He broke free after what happened in DC. I don’t know where he is now or how much he remembers, but some of the information Hydra had on him is out with the rest of SHIELD’s files. I know it’s just a matter of time until he becomes public knowledge, and people are gonna start calling for his head if they only get to know what he’s done, but not what Hydra did to him.”

“You want to show people what was done to him?”

Despite her initial shock, Pepper’s face betrays none of whatever is going on in her head. Steve is suddenly reminded that this is a woman who deals with powerful business people on a daily basis. Of course, she’d be used to playing her cards close to her chest until she knows exactly what she’s dealing with. Steve won’t even kid himself into thinking he understands her world, but he does understand people, he’s good at reading them. Pepper is a good person. Steve is willing to trust her with this. 

“Not exactly.” He has seen pictures and he is sure Bucky wouldn’t want anyone, let alone the whole world, to see him like that. “What was done to him… it’s inhumane, there are records of it, but I don’t want to expose him like that.” After everything Bucky’s been through, he doesn’t deserve the humiliation on top of it all. “I want to clear his name.”

“That’s… certainly going to be challenging.”

“I know,” Steve agrees. “I know it’s a lot to ask.” He leans forward, his body hurts with how tense his muscles are. “But Bucky is a good man and he deserves to be free, he deserves a chance to live again without being crucified for things he was not responsible for.” 

“Steve,” Pepper says, leaning forward as well so they are eye to eye. “I can see how important this is for you, and I understand that you want to protect your friend, but… If this man, if Barnes, killed Tony’s parents…,” she starts to shake her head and Steve’s heart withers a little. “I don’t know if I’m comfortable — ”

“Please,” he begs, unable to help himself. “I know this is too much, I know what it looks like, but  _ please. _ You have no idea what he’s been through.” He hangs his head and blinks hard against the sudden tears, trying to at least control his face as the rest of him threatens to fall apart. “When I saw him the first time,” Steve tells her quietly, “he didn’t recognize me, he didn’t recognize his own name.” Steve looks up and finds that he can read Pepper now. She’s chewing on her bottom lip as she watches him. She’s conflicted. He feels like a manipulative asshole, but he sees an opening and he goes for it. “He would never hurt Howard, or anyone, if he were in control… but he wasn’t. He wasn’t for a long time, but he’s himself now, Ms. Potts,” Steve promises, even though he’s very much aware he doesn’t know that for sure. Still, he pleads. “He deserves a second chance. Please,” he adds softly.

Then Steve shuts his mouth and waits. 

In the seconds that follow, Pepper is pensive, lost in the moral dilemma he’s trying to put her in. Steve feels like he can barely breathe. 

It feels like an eternity, but it’s probably less than a couple of minutes that pass before she lets out a quiet sigh, apparently reaching a conclusion.

Steve instinctively straightens his back, ready for whatever she’s about to tell him, and, more importantly, ready to  _ not _ give up.

“Like I told you,” Pepper starts, after clearing her throat. “I’m not comfortable doing this without Tony even knowing about it.” Steve nods. “He needs to know this,” she tells him seriously. “As soon as possible.”

Steve nods again. “Okay,” he agrees.

”Okay,” she mirrors him. “Now that we’re on the same page,” she says and Steve’s heart picks up. This is it. “You should know that what you’re asking me for is not a favor, it’s a PR miracle.” She stops for a second, and again, Steve is barely able to get air in his lungs. “Lucky for you,” Pepper goes on with a big, confident smile, a real one, “that is exactly where I thrive.”

Steve all but goes boneless with relief.


	4. Whatever shot I had at happiness…

Pepper agrees to help him under the condition that Steve tell Tony about his parents as soon as possible. Steve is lucky that Stark is away on business and won’t be back for a few days, which gives Steve just about enough time to prepare how exactly he’s going to break the news to Tony. Because so far all he has is “ _the love of my life killed your folks and now I’ve asked your girlfriend to defend him”_ , and that just doesn’t seem like the best way to approach things. 

Together, Steve and Pepper spend a few hours working on a strategy to win public opinion. Steve tells her as much as he can about what Bucky has suffered over the decades and helps her find the files Nat put online. Pepper is horrified by what she hears, and part of Steve feels guilty for having to show her such gruesome things, but it’s a necessary evil and she tells him it only serves to fuel her will to succeed in her mission.

As they sift through all the information on the Winter Soldier, Pepper jots down key elements she thinks will be useful for them. Steve is in awe watching her work. She thinks fast and has the incredible ability to put words together in the most compelling and convincing way, without making it sound exploitive or sensational. Pepper is amazing at what she does and, by the time Steve leaves her office, she already has a bunch of angles with which to broach Bucky’s case to the public.

Steve makes sure to thank her one more time at the door, and she leans forward to plant a farewell kiss on his cheek. With a hand on his forearm, Pepper stops him before he gets into the elevator.

“We’re going to do right by your friend,” she says, matter-of-factly, “don’t worry.” It doesn’t even sound like a promise, but rather like a certainty born from the confidence of someone who knows their shit.

“Thank you,” Steve tells her yet again, heartfelt, with a curt nod. Pepper acknowledges his gratitude but doesn’t let go of his arm.

“Talk to Tony when he comes back,” she adds. It’s a demand, the bargaining chip in exchange for her help, Steve knows it, but she’s graceful enough not to make it sound like one. “He needs to hear it from you.”

Steve covers her small hand with his own, dwarfing it as he gives it a light squeeze. “I will,” he promises. Tony might hate him at the end of this; Steve wouldn’t fault him for it, but, _God_ , he just hopes Tony doesn’t retaliate against Bucky.

\---

Bucky is waiting outside his door when he gets home.

Steve halts. For a moment, all he can do is stare at the man in front of him, and blink as if to make sure he really is awake. Steve blinks and Bucky blinks back at him and doesn’t fade and Steve keeps staring at him until he feels himself unfreeze. Blood starts flowing again inside his body, and his heart feels like it’s working overtime with how fast it pounds inside his chest.

All Steve wants to do is run to him, hold him, and, frankly, never let go. Steve wants to bury his face in the crook of Bucky’s neck where it meets his shoulder, and breathe him in. He wants it so bad that his feet take him to Bucky without Steve even noticing, not until he realizes he has closed the distance between the two of them and, if he gets any closer, he will be able to feel Bucky’s breath on his face.

So, against all of his instincts, Steve does the same thing he’s been doing his whole life and stops himself before he crosses the invisible barrier that has been there, between them, ever since Steve has learned what it means to love.

“Hi,” Bucky greets him quietly. He makes it seem so easy, as if he had just stepped out for a moment, while Steve’s throat closes at the mere sound of his voice.

Steve clears his throat to try and get rid of the lump in it. “Hey, Buck.” _I miss you,_ he thinks, a little desperately, but what comes out of his mouth is: “How long have you been standing here? Someone could’ve seen you!”

Bucky shakes his head. “Just got here,” he explains as he takes a stiff step out of the way so Steve can unlock the door.

Then there’s an awkward moment when he waits for Bucky to go in first, but Bucky doesn’t move. _Right_ , Steve thinks bitterly, _Bucky is not about to turn his back to you, Rogers_. It really shouldn’t be this surprising, or upsetting. So Steve steps inside before he can overthink this any further, shuffling to the side so Bucky can come in as well. 

Bucky crosses the threshold with a slight limp and a wince he almost manages to suppress, though Steve catches it anyway. He doesn’t really know if he’s supposed to acknowledge it, though, so he shifts his focus to something else.

“You got my message,” he says, toying with the keys still in his hands.

Bucky gives him an unimpressed look. “You are not as subtle as you think you are.”

Steve huffs, letting out a humorless laugh. “You’d be surprised,” he mumbles, mostly to himself, even though he knows Bucky hears it too, after all, they are cursed with the same gifts.

“What do you mean?” Bucky asks him with a frown, and Steve literally has to bite his tongue to keep from saying his face is going to get stuck like that, just like Winifred Barnes would. He wonders if Bucky remembers his mother’s name.

Steve shakes his head, averting his eyes. “Never mind.”

Bucky stares at him and, for a moment, Steve almost believes that he won’t let it go, that he’s going to push it until Steve opens up, like he used to. But then Bucky clears his throat, snapping out of whatever is going on in his head, and bringing Steve back to reality where things have changed. “Anyway,” Bucky says, “I just—need your help with something.” 

He shucks off his jacket and turns around, revealing the knife stuck in the middle of his back.

“Jesus Christ, Buck!” The keys fall out of Steve’s hand as he rushes towards him.

“It’s not that deep,” Bucky mutters.

But Steve’s not really paying attention. He puts his hands just above Bucky’s hips. The contact causes a light shiver to run down Bucky’s body as he sucks in a stuttered breath. _He must be in more pain than he’s letting on_ , Steve thinks, _I better hurry_. So he ignores the familiar warmth coming from Bucky’s skin, which Steve can feel even through a layer of clothing, and redoubles his focus on the task at hand. He starts half turning Bucky this way and that, trying to come up with the best way to get the knife out without causing more damage, but so far he’s just drawing a blank.

“Jesus,” Steve repeats, running a hand through his hair.

This time Bucky throws him a look over his shoulder.

“Lord’s name,” he says with a raised eyebrow.

Steve glares at him. “Seriously?”

Bucky shrugs, nonchalant. “You’re the one who liked going to church.”

Not really. Steve only went because it seemed like something he had to do. He’s never had problems with God himself, but there were plenty of things about church that Steve strongly disagreed with, mainly one thing in particular, but, contrary to what most people think, he _does_ have self-preservation instincts, so Steve’s always kept quiet about it. So quiet, in fact, not even Bucky has noticed it. 

Now is clearly not the time to think about this stuff, though. Besides, Steve’s attention is caught on something else. He hopes he doesn’t sound accusatory when he asks: “You remember quite a lot, don’t you?” Bucky simply shrugs again, turning his face away from Steve. It’s so frustrating Steve catches himself tightening his grip on Bucky’s sides without meaning to, so, with a sigh, he lets go altogether. He buries his hands back in his hair, pulling at the roots. “I don’t understand, Bucky,” Steve confesses quietly. “If you remember this much, then why don’t you—” _come home_ , he stops himself from saying, remembering at the last second how he promised not to put any pressure on Bucky.

For his part, Bucky just stands there with his back to him, so Steve can’t even guess at what’s going on in his head. 

Steve wants to scream. 

“Just—” Bucky says, after what feels like a small eternity. “Pull it out.” He throws Steve another glance over his shoulder, looking troubled. “Please,” he adds, before turning back around. “I would’ve done it myself,” Bucky explains to the wall before him, “but I can’t reach it.”

“Okay,” Steve sighs, “okay.” He scrubs his hands over his face. _God,_ how many times must this have happened? Just how many times must Bucky have had to endure pain, simply because no one was there to help him, because _Steve_ wasn’t fucking there to help him? The worst thing is that Steve doesn’t even have to wonder. There are files upon files detailing just how badly Bucky’s been hurt. And now that he’s regaining his agency, now that he can take care of himself, he still has to swallow his pride and seek help, even though it’s obvious he’d rather not have to rely on anyone, not when most people have caused more harm than good in his life so far. It’s just too unfair that choices are still being taken away from him, even now. Steve wants to scream. “Let me just get my kit.”

“Just pull it out, Steve.”

He sounds so resigned that Steve’s sorrow threatens to turn into anger. It’s not directed at Bucky. It _never_ will be. But it’s there, sitting heavily at the bottom of his stomach. And Steve doesn’t know what to do with it.

“I _will_ ,” Steve snaps, unable to help himself. God, he feels like a spring, wound too tight. “Let me just get the fucking kit first,” he says as he marches to the bathroom to fetch the first aid box.

In the bathroom, Steve takes a moment to collect himself. 

Bucky is here. He’s here and he remembers. He remembers but he doesn’t want anything to do with Steve, apart from the medical assistance he can’t get anywhere else. He doesn’t want to be around Steve for longer than it takes his body to heal. Steve blinks at his own reflection in the mirror. Bucky doesn’t want anything to do with him. Bucky doesn’t want _him._

He shakes his head. Peggy’s right, he really is way too dramatic. Steve sighs, turning around and heading back to the living room to find Bucky standing exactly where he left him. Although he’s shirtless now.

Steve pinches the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut for a couple of seconds.

“Alright,” he mutters, opening his eyes, “let’s do this.”

Bucky shivers when Steve places a hand on his bare back and Steve apologizes. His hand must be colder than he thought.

They’re both silent as Steve works. Bucky turns his head around ever so often to glance at him, but Steve keeps his eyes on what he’s doing. Bucky was right. The knife is really not that deep inside of him. Perhaps, if Bucky had wiggled a little, it would have fallen down on its own.

Bucky flinches a little when Steve pulls the knives out, but no sound escapes him. Steve doesn’t even bother stitching him up, since Bucky’s body will probably be completely healed in a few hours. He does clean the wound though, dressing it so that Bucky doesn’t get an infection in the meantime.

Once he’s done, Steve takes a step back and Bucky finally swivels around to face him. Steve takes the opportunity to inspect the wounds he treated the last time Bucky came to him, but none of them are there anymore. It makes Steve’s stomach churn a little, to wonder how bad some of the hits Bucky took had to be, to leave scars.

“Are you gonna tell me where you’re getting these?” The question is out before Steve can even register what he’s saying. But he doesn’t take it back. He wants to understand why Bucky is letting people get this close to him, close enough to be able to literally stab him in the back.

“I don’t have to tell you anything,” Bucky retorts, shrugging his t-shirt back on.

“I know,” Steve concedes quietly. “I just—” _worry_. But he doesn’t say it, he can’t. Instead, he asks: “What’s going on with you, Bucky?”

Bucky snorts. “Like you don’t know.”

“I really don’t,” Steve shoots back honestly. “I know what happened to you. But I have no idea what’s going on now.”

“And why would you wanna know that?” Bucky asks. He seems genuinely confused as to why Steve would care, and it breaks Steve’s heart into about a million pieces.

 _Because I love you_. “Because I am your friend,” Steve says. “I care about what happens to you, Bucky. If you remember anything at all about me, you should know that by now.”

Bucky shuts his eyes as he takes a drawn out breath. Steve takes the opportunity to study him some more. Bucky still looks troubled, like he’s at war with himself, and it might be Steve’s imagination, but it looks like his right hand is shaking a little. 

As childish as it sounds, Steve wishes he could simply hold Bucky tight until he feels better again. _Kiss the problems away_ , like his mother used to say before planting a soft kiss on the top of Steve’s head when he was sick. Steve wishes he could kiss the problems away for Bucky too.

By the time Bucky's gray-blue eyes are on him again, Steve is ready to tell him about his plan and offer Bucky a place to stay while Pepper and her team work on getting everyone they possibly can on his side. But Bucky speaks before Steve has the chance to.

“I can’t be what you want me to be,” he tells Steve, point blank. Steve opens his mouth to argue, but Bucky goes on. “You want the guy you grew up with. That man is dead. I may have his memories, Steve, but I’m not—”

And Steve can’t keep quiet any longer. “I’m not looking for anyone else but the person standing in front of me right now, Buck. I’m not chasing ghosts!” Steve places a closed hand over his own chest. “Don’t you think I’ve changed too? None of us gets to be the people we were when we left home, I know that. It doesn’t mean we stopped being ourselves, just cause we’re different, and it certainly doesn’t mean you don’t matter to me anymore.”

Bucky looks up, blinking at Steve’s ceiling like he’s trying not to cry. Steve bites on the inside of his cheek to keep himself quiet, to allow Bucky a moment to sort things out in his head. Bucky hugs himself with his flesh arm, looking miserable and again it eats at Steve that there’s nothing he can do to make things instantly better.

“What do you want from me then?” Bucky asks, anguished.

 _I want you to stay._ “I want you to be happy.”

Bucky huffs. “Do you think that’s possible? After everything?” Steve nods. Bucky shakes his head. “Whatever shot I had at happiness… I think it slipped through my fingers a long time ago.”

Steve doesn’t really understand what Bucky’s talking about, but he completely disagrees with it. 

“Doesn’t mean you can’t find it again somewhere,” Steve insists. He is not naive or self-absorbed enough to think that he could be the source of Bucky’s happiness, but Steve could help him find his way to it, if Bucky would just let him.

When Bucky’s eyes meet his again neither of them looks away. Steve’s pretty sure this is the first time they managed to keep their gazes locked on each other for more than a couple of seconds. He feels like Bucky is searching for something in him, and he hopes to God, whatever it is, Bucky likes what he finds enough to stay. 

The spell is broken by the obnoxious hum of Steve’s phone vibrating in his pocket. Steve shoots Bucky an apologetic look. He contemplates letting it go to voicemail, but Bucky is already averting his gaze, as if to give him some space, so Steve just fishes the goddamn thing out. 

“Hey, Sam,” Steve says as he accepts the call. He manages not to sound as annoyed as he feels, and that's a blessing. The bad timing is not Sam’s fault. 

_“Hey, man. Just wanted to tell you I’ll be in town tomorrow and you’re taking me out to dinner_ ,” Sam tells him.

“Is that right?” Steve teases. In all fairness, Sam did pay the last time they went out so Steve supposes that makes it his turn now. And, probably for the first time in his life, it’s not a problem. Steve watches Bucky as he does a great job of not even pretending he isn’t listening to both sides of this conversation. Steve wishes he could have taken Bucky out for dinner when they were younger, instead of having Bucky work two jobs to feed and clothe the two of them.

“ _That’s right and you know it_ , _Rogers._ ” Sam shoots back. “ _Don’t even try to play dumb, it’s not cute_.”

Steve laughs. 

Bucky is now glaring at Steve’s furniture as he puts his jacket back on. 

Steve should probably finish the conversation before he pulls another disappearing act.

“Deal,” he concedes. “Text me when you get here and I’ll see what I can do.”

Sam snorts loudly on the other side. “ _You better not go cheap on my ass, Rogers. I helped you set up that banking app, I know you’re good for it._ ”

“Alright,” Steve tells him. “See you tomorrow, Sam.”

“ _See you, man. Take care_.” 

As they hang up, Steve is sure Bucky will say something. But, of course, _of course_ , it’s the last thing he wants to hear.

“I gotta go,” Bucky announces the moment Steve puts the phone away.

“You don’t have to,” Steve tells him. _Stay. Stay. Stay._

“You’re busy, I don’t want to—”

“It’s no problem...”

“I have stuff to do.” He knows Steve is going to ask, so he continues before Steve has the chance to get the question out. “It’s not so bad. It could definitely be worse, it _has_ been... before, but things are not so bad now. You don’t have to worry about me.”

Steve shakes his head. “That’s not possible, Buck.” 

“Well, you don’t have to,” Bucky repeats as he heads to the door. He stands by it, clearly waiting for Steve to open. “I’m alright.”.

Steve nods. “I’m real glad to hear that,” Steve says, sounding like a robot to his own ears, even though he’s being sincere. He hates that things feel this awkward and forced between them.

Then, after a beat, and going against every fiber in his body, Steve opens the door. _Stay. Please, stay with me,_ he thinks, even as he steps aside so Bucky can leave. And, for a moment, Bucky looks almost disappointed for some reason as he walks by Steve. But it makes no sense, so Steve files it under more wishful thinking.

Bucky has only taken a couple of steps out when he suddenly halts, a few feet away. Steve’s heart skips a beat as Bucky seems to hesitate for a second. Hope flourishes inside Steve, against his better judgment, though it quickly dies when Bucky turns around and his sorrowful eyes meet Steve’s. “You’re wrong.”

Steve frowns at him. “About what?”

“My shot at happiness...” Bucky tells him, resigned and sadder than Steve has seen him so far. “I’m pretty sure I lost it for good this time.”

He doesn’t give Steve time to process his words before he turns around and leaves Steve standing there confused and heartbroken.


	5. Welcome to life, Rogers

Steve is halfway through his dinner with Sam when he realizes he has no idea what his food even tastes like. He idly moves the pasta back and forth on the plate as his mind wanders back to the last thing Bucky said to him.

He seemed so sure he couldn’t be happy again. He probably thinks he doesn’t deserve it, after everything Hydra made him do, and it breaks Steve’s heart to see him like that. Regret gnaws at Steve’s insides every time he’s assaulted by the reminder that Bucky could have walked away. He could have gone home in 1944—Steve knows Bucky was offered a discharge—but he asked him to stay, because Steve was selfish and part of the reason he wanted to join the war was so he could fight at Bucky’s side. 

So Bucky stayed. And Steve let him down, left him to a fate worse than death. And now he can't bring himself to ask for it again, even if part of him dies a little every time he has to watch Bucky go. If this is the price Steve has to pay, so be it. At least he gets to glimpse at whatever life Bucky is living now. Heaven knows he’ll take whatever he can get, whatever Bucky is willing to give. 

“... and that’s why pigs don’t fly no more,” Sam is saying when Steve tunes back in.

“What?” Guilt pools heavily in his stomach. It seems like, try as he might, Steve can never do right by his friends these days. He shakes his head in a futile attempt to clear it and come back to the moment. “I’m sorry Sam,” he says, dropping the fork and pushing the plate away with a sigh. “My mind was somewhere else.”

“No shit,” Sam agrees. “Wanna talk about it?”

Steve shrugs. He can’t explain why, but he doesn’t want to tell anyone that Bucky’s been visiting him, even if it makes him kind of an asshole, since Sam is the one helping him track Bucky down. But part of Steve wants to hang on to these little stolen moments in life where he gets to have Bucky to himself again, even though he only comes when he’s half dead and only stays long enough for Steve to patch him up. It’s what Steve gets to have now and he doesn’t want to share that with anyone, for fear he might lose it, like a dream that fades away the moment he wakes up. 

So he settles for something else he can actually talk about.

“I’ve asked Pepper to help me clear Bucky’s name,” he tells Sam, who blinks at him for a couple of seconds like Steve has just grown a second head.

“That’s… Holy shit, man. And she gonna do it?” 

Steve nods. “I’m supplying her with information on him, whatever I can get my hands on… things I remember, anything that can help build a case in his favor.”

Sam gives him one of his trademark concerned looks. 

“You sure about this, Steve? Have you thought about how this is gonna affect you?

“I don’t care about my reputation.”

“I mean mentally.”

Steve huffs. “He won’t let me help him directly!" He sounds a little exasperated, even to his own ears. He can’t explain why it matters, but he wants Sam to understand. "I gotta do something!”

“Steve,” Sam sighs.

Thankfully Steve is saved from the impending speech by the simultaneous beep on both their phones. And there is no need to check the screens to see what the message is about, that sound is for one thing and one thing only: the Avengers are assembling.

\---

When he was 16 years old Steve almost kissed Bucky on the mouth. 

He had spent the whole week in bed, in and out of consciousness, delirious with fever and barely able to feed himself. His ma and Bucky had taken turns looking after him, even though both Steve and Sarah had first tried to discourage Bucky from staying, so he wouldn’t get sick as well, but he wouldn’t hear it, and he remained by Steve’s bedside day and night whenever Sarah couldn’t be there.

By the end of the week, Steve’s fever had finally started to break. His mother knew he was feeling better so, after some coaxing, she agreed to leave him alone to go to work. Bucky would be there soon anyway, so Steve wouldn’t be by himself for long. 

He was worlds better than he’d been before, but his limbs still felt way too heavy so Steve had stayed in bed, and he was still there when Bucky arrived. 

Steve had his eyes closed, and he’d been dozing off when he felt the thin mattress depress as Bucky sat down. Then he felt Bucky’s cool hand on his forehead. He opened his eyes and blinked up at Bucky, who smiled down at him like Steve had just given him the best news of his life. His eyes were more blue than gray that day, he hadn’t done his hair yet, and his wayward locks looked incredibly soft falling over his forehead. He was the most beautiful thing Steve had ever seen in his life. 

And, in that moment, Steve couldn’t look away. 

He’d felt himself being pulled towards Bucky as if they were magnets. Supporting himself on his elbows, he had sat up on the bed, and, with his eyes still locked on Bucky’s, Steve had leaned forward until he could feel Bucky’s breath puff over his face. For his part, Bucky had been frozen in place, his pupils blown wide as he stared at Steve. He seemed scared, which was a look Steve had never seen on him before, and Steve suddenly realized what he had been about to do, so he frowned and shook his head as if he were confused.

“Bucky?” Steve had said, blinking excessively as if he had just woken up.

Bucky had let out a shaky breath as he stood up, putting some distance between the two of them, and, whether he believed Steve or not, he’d gone along, pretending nothing had happened as he asked Steve if he was feeling better, even as his hand trembled a little when he ran it through his hair, pushing it off his face. Then, before Steve had the chance to get a word out, Bucky had turned around and loudly announced he would get Steve some water as he disappeared through the door. 

But Bucky had taken so long to come back to the room that, when he finally did, Steve had been dozing off again, and as sleep took over him, Steve couldn’t help but wonder if it hadn’t all really been a fever-induced dream because Bucky no longer looked troubled... He also had no water with him.

This is what’s going through Steve’s mind when he gets kicked into a wall.

All the air seems to get knocked out of him as his back hits the unyielding surface, and it’s all Steve can do to keep his balance and not fall on his ass. He tries to shake off the embarrassment as he regains his footing. There’s no one to blame here but himself. Well, maybe the Hydra goon whose shoe print is now on his uniform, but, at the end of the day, Steve is the one with his head miles away while the soldiers guarding the laboratory seem to have been waiting for them. And, as a result, Steve gets a cracked rib for his recklessness.

He rearranges the shield strap on his arm, trying to ignore the nauseating feeling of his body knitting itself back together as he charges towards the man who managed to land a hit on him. Steve stares at the sightless goggles as if he could actually see the man behind the balaclava, and part of him wonders if this is one of the people who stood by or, worse, had a hand in it, when Bucky was being tortured. 

Steve can’t see the man’s face, but the soldier can see his.

The man runs.

“ _You okay there, Cap?_ ” Tony’s voice asks him through the comms.

Steve hurls the shield at the guy, who drops like a sack of potatoes a few feet away from him.

“Never better,” Steve replies absently.

He grabs the man by the back of his uniform and turns him around. Steve doesn’t recognize him when he rips the mask and goggles off. It’s an unremarkable face Steve could’ve seen a thousand times before and he wouldn't have batted an eye. Now he wonders if this is one of the faces Bucky saw at the worst moments of his life. 

Steve grabs the man by the collar, pulling him up. His ribcage protests the strain the movement puts on it; the serum is still mending the cracks. But it’s just another thing Steve has, over time, learned to ignore. The man stares up at him with poorly concealed fear, but it doesn’t really register with Steve. His thoughts are all over the place, and he’s having a hard time keeping his head on the mission.

The soldier struggles against his grip and manages to escape when his tac vest rips away where Steve is holding it. For a moment, all Steve does is stare at the piece of fabric until he catches sight of the blur of one of Barton’s arrows flying by him and knocking the soldier out for good.

Steve turns around and throws Clint a lazy salute. 

Barton grins at him like a happy kid.

“Where to now?” Steve asks even though he’s the one who’s supposed to be leading.

“Home, I guess,” Clint says with a shrug. “Pretty sure the fight’s over.” He tells him how they got the upper hand on the handful of soldiers and scientists who were scattered around the base, and that they’re all gathered up in a cell now, mostly unconscious. “Police and whatever is left of the good guys at SHIELD will probably be here soon to take them in.”

Steve tries not to let his surprise show on his face. He’s pretty sure he lost track of time because he doesn’t feel like they’ve been here for long, but if the fight is already over, then Steve didn’t do much to help win it, because he’s pretty sure he hasn’t gone further than the main entrance since they got here. 

“Well, that was weird,” Tony says as he lands in front of them. Steve’s heart skips a beat and he braces himself for the inevitable accusations. _Why weren’t you doing anything, Cap? What is wrong with you?_ But none of that comes. “That was weird, right?” Tony simply repeats as the Iron Man suit unfolds itself from his body. 

“Yeah,” Clint agrees. “It’s like they were waiting for us.”

“Not us,” Nat says as she and Sam join them. “They were waiting for _something_ , but I don’t think it was the Avengers.” She throws Steve a look he can’t interpret. “They weren’t prepared for an attack by this many people at once, but they knew someone was coming.”

“So we got another player in the game?” Sam asks.

“Perhaps,” Steve says, feeling that he should at least pretend to be a part of this conversation. “We won’t know until we check to see what they were doing here.”

“Waaay ahead of you, Cap,” Tony says with a smug smile, which slowly disappears as he looks around everyone’s faces but Steve’s. “Shit.”

Steve looks around as well. “What?”

Sam takes a step towards him. “Steve, this is one of the places,” he explains, and Steve feels suddenly cold, “where they kept him.”

Steve’s first instinct is to go and burn the entire place to the ground until there is not a trace left of where Bucky was treated as less than human. But as much as he wishes that destroying a building could unburden Bucky in any way, Steve knows that wouldn’t amount to anything. It doesn’t mean, he thinks as an idea strikes him, that this place is completely useless to him. Don’t let it be said that Steve Rogers can’t, at times, be objective.

He glances at his friends—realizing belatedly that he’s spaced out—and finds them staring at him like they’re waiting for him to have a breakdown. He doesn’t let it faze him, even if they might not be that far off. He shakes off the heavy feeling in his gut that never fails to accompany him in this sort of mission and turns to Natasha.

“How d’ya know Bucky was here?” 

“You don’t have to keep doing this to yourself,” Sam tells him before Nat can answer. He already knows where Steve is going with this, and, judging by the look on his face, he doesn’t approve. It’s not Sam’s fault, he doesn’t know Steve that well yet, because if he did, he’d know he’s just throwing gasoline onto the fire by telling Steve he shouldn’t do something.

“I actually have a purpose,” Steve argues. “I don’t enjoy reading those files.” He feels like he’s begging them to understand, and he hates it. But Steve can’t afford pride now. “But I have to, I have to help him.”

“And this helps him _how_ exactly?” Tony asks.

Steve vows right then and there to tell Tony the truth as soon as they’re back in New York. For now, he settles for something that’s not a lie. “I’m working on something.”

“Care to elaborate?” Tony presses.

“We don’t have time for this now,” Nat interjects. She checks her watch. “Steve, you got about an hour to go through their stuff before three-letter agencies start swarming the place.”

Steve nods at her, grateful.

“What can we do, Cap?” Clint asks.

“Just... grab whatever you can find on Bucky.”

Tony rolls his eyes. “Should’ve said that before,” he complains. “I could’ve backed up the whole thing from the moment we set foot in this dump.” He shakes his head, as he rummages through his pockets, producing a handful of flash drives. “Here you go, Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah and all that,” Tony says, throwing the drives to each one of them, already moving away and typing into the holographic keyboard flashing on his forearm when Steve catches his. “Seriously, Rogers. It’s like you don’t even know me.”

Once it’s just the two of them Sam elbows him in his still-healing ribs. Steve does a great job not wincing. “See what happens when you let people help you? They do!” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Steve feigns ignorance as they make their way to what he suspects is a lab just ahead. “I have no problem asking for help.”

Sam snorts. “Sure, well, let’s just agree to disagree here.”

Steve huffs, shaking his head as he pushes the door open and walks inside to find a mostly empty windowless space, save for a few metal tables pushed against the wall and a desk at the far end of the room with a desktop computer on it. All the banter from a second ago is forgotten when Steve boots up the old machine and glances around the place as he waits for the system to start up.

“Your boy better be worth having to deal with this slow ass crap,” Sam comments.

“He is,” Steve replies automatically, sounding a lot more earnest than he intended. He tries to play it cool but he can feel Sam’s eyes boring into him like he’s studying a bug under a microscope. Steve rises to the challenge and stares back. “What?”

Sam keeps looking at him for another second or two before he shrugs and turns his attention back to the computer. “Nothing. Let’s see what we got here.”

Steve doesn’t believe him, but he’s also pretty certain he doesn’t want to hear whatever is going on in Sam’s mind right now so he drops it. “Actually,” he decides after a moment. “I think I’ll look around some more.” 

Sam doesn’t try to talk him into staying, for which Steve is grateful, and so he wanders out of the lab, turning around random corners until he finds another set of doors at another poorly lit corridor. Steve picks one and goes for the handle, only to find the door is locked. Intrigued, he takes a couple of steps back and drives his right foot hard on the edge of the door where it meets the threshold, sending the whole thing flying back into the room behind it.

Steve follows the door and his breath catches when he steps inside. There, in the middle of the large room, stands an upright cryogenic chamber. It reminds Steve, in an almost hysterical way, of Snow White’s glass coffin, even though there’s only a small window in the upper part of it. Steve approaches it gingerly. Part of him, he has to admit, is afraid of it because it also reminds him of the chamber Steve himself was put in to receive the vita rays that turned him into what he is now. He must have spent about ten minutes inside of it, but it was the most pain he’d ever felt in his life, and Steve had always thought he had a pretty good grasp on pain.

It hurt and he was scared, and he thought he was going to be ripped apart as he felt the skin on his limbs stretch to accommodate the new muscles as they grew. And that was only ten minutes. Bucky had to come back to his glass coffin over and over again, aware the whole time as his limbs froze up inch by inch. In the beginning, the technology was still rudimentary and it used to take over an hour until Bucky was completely under, Steve read it once.

He raises a hand to touch the chamber, realizing belatedly that he’s shaking.

“I’m so sorry, Buck,” Steve mutters quietly, bowing his head.

“You should take a picture.”

Steve swivels around, startled. He’s about to throw the shield at the newcomer when he sees it’s Natasha. She has a phone in her hand and, before Steve can say anything, she snaps a couple of pictures of the cryo chamber and the room around it.

“For his case,” Nat explains as she pockets the phone. Steve gapes at her. “By the way, you should really talk to Stark about this.”

“I’m gonna,” Steve tells her absently, still baffled that she knows.

“You’re asking his girlfriend to defend the man who killed his parents,” Natasha says. “It’s a little messed up if you ask me, so I think you better talk to Tony fast before you make things awkward for him and Pepper.”

“She told you?”

“Sam did.”

Part of Steve wonders if he shouldn’t be feeling betrayed right now, but he never asked Sam to keep it a secret. Besides, Nat has her ways. “I know,” Steve says quietly. “I know it’s not fair.”

Nat smirks. “Welcome to life, Rogers.”

Steve scoffs. 

She walks up to him until they’re side by side, and then she nudges his arm with her shoulder, looking up at him with a raised eyebrow. It’s her way of asking him if he’s okay. Over the years, Steve has bumped into some stupid comments about Nat, people calling her cold. They couldn’t be more wrong. 

Steve smiles at her and nods. He’s alright, he’s going to be alright. 

“I’m going to tell Tony.”

“Tell Tony what,” Tony says. Steve swivels around in time to watch him come into the room with hologram files displayed in front of him by the device on his wrist. “That your murderous BFF made me an orphan?”


	6. My life is not in your hands

“Tony,” Steve starts.

“No,” Tony barks. “You don’t get a say.” He waves the holograms away. “You had me scavenge this whole fucking place to help your little friend, had my own  _ girlfriend _ help your fucking… argh!” Tony pulls at his own hair.

“I was gonna tell you,” Steve tries, but it sounds like a weak excuse now and he knows it. He bites the inside of his cheek until he tastes blood in the back of his mouth.

“When, huh? When would you have told me? Because we had seven hours on a quinjet to get here and you didn’t say  _ shit _ .”

“I think now’s not the time,” Nat intervenes.

Tony scoffs. “Of course you’d side with him.”

“I’m not  _ siding _ with anyone. We have to get out of here before we get stuck with the bureaucratic part of the job.”

For a moment, Tony simply glares at him, and Steve wishes he could say he’s sorry, that he wouldn’t do it again if he had the chance, that he will call it off when they get back to New York, but he can’t. It would’ve been a lie. There is very little he wouldn’t do for Bucky, and, as time goes by, Steve suspects the Avengers have started to realize that. He holds Tony’s gaze and doesn’t flinch when the punch comes. 

“Goddamn it,” Tony swears, shaking out his hand. It hurts him more than it does Steve, though for the sake of Tony’s pride, Steve’s not about to point that out.

His jaw does smart a little, so he works it from side to side.

“Are we done now?” Natasha asks, unimpressed.

“Not even close,” Tony answers. But then he’s walking away before Steve can even begin to think of what to say. “I’m flying back by myself,” he announces, the Iron Man suit already starting to build around his body as he leaves.

_ “Hey, Cap,”  _ Clint’s voice comes through the comms.  _ “I got some stuff here.” _

_ “Pretty sure Stark has already backed everything up,”  _ Sam answers.

_ “Yeah, but these are paper files.” _

_ “Guess tech can only go so far,” _ Sam says.  _ “We gotta leave now, though. I’m pretty sure there’s a chopper coming our way and I’m not in the mood for pictures.” _

Clint snorts. “ _ Yeah, right. I totally believe that.” _

Steve hears their conversation crystal clear, but he can’t bring himself to participate in it. He feels stuck in place, useless. This is not helping Bucky,  _ he  _ is not helping Bucky. All Steve is doing is messing up the relationships he has in his life and making his friends go through the horrific things Hydra has done. And this is all on him, all this shit, none of it would have happened if Steve had been able to reach Bucky.

“Steve.”

Natasha’s voice startles him. He’d actually forgotten she was there. He forces himself to look at her, even though he doesn’t want her to see whatever is on his face. She must have answered Sam and Clint, he realizes, noticing that the chatter over the comms has stopped.

“I know this isn’t easy,” Nat tells him. There’s no pity in her eyes when he turns to her, and for that Steve is grateful. “But if you’re going to be here, you need to  _ be  _ here. A hundred percent. Tony is gonna be pissed for some time, and Barnes is gonna show up when he’s ready. Those things are not on you, but you have your own work to do.”

Steve looks at her, nods, and tries to summon a smile, but all he can do is let out a shaky breath. She’s right. He can’t afford to be reckless. He doesn’t get to half ass his job just because he’s going through something, it’s not fair, and his teammates, his  _ friends _ deserve better.  _ Perhaps they should choose another leader _ , Steve thinks absently. God knows it was only dumb luck and sheer stubbornness, plus his inability to follow the rules he disagrees with, that got him into this position in the first place. 

Nat, bless her, doesn’t wait for an answer. She simply nudges him again and smirks. “Let’s get out of here.”

She starts walking and Steve follows her. As they head out, he throws one last look at the cryo chamber, but all it does is remind him of how none of this would’ve happened if Steve had reached that extra inch and grabbed Bucky’s hand.

\---

The flight back to New York is spent in uncomfortable silence. Nobody says anything about Tony’s absence, so Steve suspects Natasha must have filled Sam and Clint in at some point. They both try to distract him as Nat flies them home, but Steve’s heart is not in it, and he excuses himself to the back of the quinjet after coaxing Clint into handing over Bucky’s file.

It’s thin and about twenty years old, meaning Steve was still sleeping peacefully in the ice as Bucky went through this. He flips the file open. It’s more of the same sickening clinical reports on Bucky’s performance on the field and his endurance on lab tests. Nothing Steve hasn’t seen so far, so his eyes simply skim over the words, completely ignoring the few pictures, until something catches his attention and he goes back to the beginning of the paragraph and starts from there.

_ The soldier was allowed to sleep in a cell due to the weather delaying the completion of Mission #56. However, the night shift reported hearing screams at dawn and, upon verification, found that the Soldier was apparently caught in a nightmare in which he was calling out the name Steve*... _

Steve feels bile rise in his throat. He swallows around it and checks the bottom of the page for an explanation of the asterisk.

_ *Possible relation: Steven G. Rogers, alias Captain America, status: deceased. _

It doesn’t surprise him, and Steve goes back to where he stopped.

_ …repeatedly. The soldier failed to wake on command, so a hose was brought to the cell, and the cold jet of water was proven once more to be a successful method when bringing the Soldier back to consciousness. Once awake, he was taken directly to the chair and reprogrammed.  _

_ It has been proven that sleep stimulates the process of healing on the brain and the recovery of memories. Therefore, it is advisable, hereafter, that during longer active periods the Soldier is kept awake for the duration of the mission via stimulants, to prevent such brain healing and memory recovery. _

It’s only sheer luck that Steve gets to the quinjet restroom and manages to slide the door open before he’s throwing up in the small sink. There wasn’t much in his stomach to begin with, so he mostly dry heaves and coughs, bracing himself on the narrow walls of the stall.

“I know this is gonna sound stupid,” Sam says from behind him, “but... are you okay?”

Steve shakes his head. He turns on the tap and rinses out his mouth and the sink as best as he can before turning around. “I  _ think _ ,” he starts, but his voice croaks and he has to clear his throat before trying again. “I think that’s gonna be useful... for Pepper,” he says, then he remembers. “If she’s still willing to help us.”

“That’s… so not what I asked you.”

Steve sighs. “I’ll feel fine when I make this right,” he says, handing Sam the file, open on the page he was reading, as he walks back to his seat. 

A few minutes later, Steve is doing a horrible job of trying to rest slash pretending he’s asleep when he hears Sam hiss a loaded  _ fuck _ from somewhere in front of him. 

When they land, Steve opens his eyes to find Sam looking at him.

“I’ll talk to Ms. Potts.”

“Sam,” Steve says, “You don’t have to — ”

“Steve, let’s be realistic. For now, you’re persona non grata at the Tower,” Sam points out. “I’ll give this to her, and if she’s still up for it, she’ll know what to do with it.” As opposed to Steve, who would just read it over and over again until it was seared into the back of his mind. Sam knows him well enough to get to that conclusion. Though he’s not going to say it out loud, because he’s Sam and he has years of counseling and dealing with people’s shit, Steve’s included. So Steve simply nods.

“Thank you, Sam.”

“Don’t mention it,” Sam says with a grin. “Come on now, go home, you look like shit.”

Steve snorts, and, for once in his life, does as he’s told.

\---

Steve’s been home for about a couple of hours when there’s a knock on his door, and he’s not in the mood to even pretend that it might be someone other than Bucky, so he’s not exactly surprised when he opens the door to find his best friend standing on the other side, looking like he hasn’t slept since the last time they saw each other. 

For once though, Steve notices, it seems like Bucky’s not bleeding to death. Although, as he steps aside to let Bucky in, Steve does check his back for knives.

“Wanna eat something?” Steve offers as he closes the door behind them.

But Bucky just shakes his head. He looks exhausted beyond words, but Steve knows that if he offers him a bed to sleep, Bucky will bolt so fast he’ll leave track marks on the floor. So Steve aims for casual instead and asks: 

“I was about to look for something to watch.” He waits for Bucky to look at him. “Help me find something?” He gets a halfhearted shrug in response, but when he sits down on the sofa Bucky all but drops beside him, and Steve has to suppress a relieved sigh.

He pulls up Netflix and pretends that this is normal, that it’s something they do every day, as he scrolls through his queue. Most of the movies consist of recommendations from Sam and Nat, although there are some from Clint and Tony as well as a couple of documentaries Bruce suggested he checked out, but none of it feels right at the moment, so he keeps on looking.

“Are you just gonna go through every title on there?” Bucky asks after a few minutes.

Steve glances at him from the corner of his eye. “You’re welcome to choose.”

Bucky chews on his bottom lip for a couple of seconds before mumbling, “I don’t know any modern movies.”

Steve turns slightly on the sofa so he can face Bucky. “There’s a bunch of old stuff in there too. It’s like a library.” He gets glared at for that.

“I know what is,” Bucky chides. 

“Sorry,” Steve mutters. He huffs, amused. “It’s just… most people just assume — ”

“That you’re an idiot who can’t figure things out.”

Steve snorts. “Yeah, sort of. Mostly they just think I’m too old to grasp at these wild concepts like the internet, or cell phones.” It pissed him off in the beginning. Sure, things were new to him, but Steve is also the guy who stepped inside a machine a skinny asthmatic and then stepped out two times bigger and healthy as a horse. He fought a man who had a skull for a face, and saw Howard Stark make a car fly for a few seconds before all these people who think he’s their grandpa—because he is chronologically old—were even born. He can’t believe he just did the same thing to Bucky.

“I just found out what Facebook is,” Bucky confesses in the silence that follows. And Steve manages to keep it together for about five seconds before he descends into a fit of giggles. Bucky doesn’t exactly laugh with him, but he gives Steve a tired smile that’s enough to wake the hibernating butterflies in Steve’s stomach. Bucky glances at the television and then back at him. “Do you think the magic box has The Wizard of Oz in it?”

Steve wipes the tears of laughter in the corners of his eyes. “Let’s see,” he says as he types in the search box. A moment later, the movie is on the screen, and Steve smiles triumphantly at Bucky. He remembers when they saw it for the first time, what feels like a million years ago. Bucky had been delighted. Steve had liked it too, but he loved seeing the look on Bucky’s face when he talked about it a hell of a lot more. They saved up every penny the following week so they could go again. And Bucky watched the movie for a second time, while Steve, taking advantage of the dark, only had eyes for him. 

Now, seventy years later, it’s no different. Steve keeps stealing glances at Bucky whenever he feels he can get away with it. And sure part of it is the same reason it’s always been: Steve loves Bucky, that’s a given, but mostly, he can’t help but wonder if this is real, especially because it never feels like that after Bucky leaves. And Steve finds himself on the verge of asking him to stay, but he knows better. He’ll take what he can get for now and turn his attention back to the screen.

Bucky falls asleep about twenty minutes into the movie. Steve only takes so long to notice because he’s also barely awake when he turns his head and finds Bucky’s eyes closed and his face more relaxed than Steve has seen it in a while. 

He turns off the TV. 

He knows it’s creepy as hell, but once he looks back at Bucky he can’t tear his eyes away. And, against his better judgement, Steve allows his mind to go back to the file. Bucky wasn’t allowed to sleep because it helped him remember. Steve wonders how much sleep he must be getting these days. He wishes he could ensure that Bucky is getting enough rest, but all of Steve’s wishes always seem to turn to dust and he never gets to have what he wants. 

Tears prickle at the back of his eyes, but he ignores them. He gets into a more comfortable position and lets the slow rise and fall of Bucky’s chest lull him into sleep.

\---

_ Bucky is reaching up for him.  _

_ Steve stretches out his arm as far as it will go, but it’s not enough. He tries to lean forward, but the abused metal groans under his weight and threatens to bring him down too, so he stays where he is. _

_ “Hang on!” he shouts, desperate. “Grab my hand,” he begs uselessly as if Bucky weren’t trying. He’s hanging on by a thread and Steve has never felt more impotent in his whole life, not when he was little, not even when he was halfway dead from one disease or another. He’s never felt this scared either. _

_ Bucky’s looking up at him with eyes full of terror, and there’s nothing Steve can do, but he keeps trying, he keeps stretching, ignoring the ache in the muscles of his arm even as it feels like they’re about to snap in half, he keeps trying, keeps begging God and the universe to give him this, he only needs one shot. It doesn’t matter what happens to him after this, he just needs to get to Bucky, to wrap his fingers around Bucky’s hand and pull him back inside. After that… Steve is so scared he can’t see beyond that. _

_ “Bucky,” he screams. But Bucky is completely quiet as he stares up at him, and he tries to make his way back to Steve, but the handle he’s holding on to squeaks and comes away in his hand and then he’s screaming, a deafening sound that echoes as he falls and is soon swallowed by the wind. “Bucky,” Steve cries out. “No!” _

_ Steve squeezes his eyes shut because the train keeps going and he can no longer see Bucky. He can’t even hear him. “No,” he moans. His tears freeze on his face and it feels like he can’t move. _

Suddenly, there are two hands, one warm and one cold, on his shoulders, shaking him.

“Wake up,” Bucky says.

_ Bucky is dead _ , Steve thinks. He just died, I just let him die.

“Come on, Steve,” Bucky urges, shaking him a little harder. “Wake up.”

But Steve doesn’t want to open his eyes, because if he does, then Bucky will disappear and he will be alone in the world again, and Steve is tired of being alone.

“Stevie,” he thinks he hears Bucky call him, but he just shakes his head. He can’t. His stomach is twisting itself in tight knots and there’s something heavy and unmoving pressing down his chest. 

“I couldn’t reach you,” Steve confesses in a voice so small he can barely recognize it as his own. His lips tremble as he draws in a shaky breath. And, with his eyes still screwed shut, he fumbles with his hands until he can find something of Bucky to hold on to. His fingers tighten around what seems to be a denim jacket and Steve bows his head and holds on for dear life. “I couldn’t reach you,” he repeats. A sob tears its way through his throat and it’s like a dam breaking and Steve feels like he can barely breathe as he says it, over and over again. “I couldn’t reach you, I couldn’t reach you…”

He feels Bucky’s arms close around his shoulders so he rests his head on Bucky’s chest as he cries his eyes out.

“It’s not your fault,” Steve thinks Bucky’s saying, but none of this feels real and he can’t stop crying and he is so fucking cold, he thinks his teeth might shatter from how hard he’s shaking.

Suddenly, the warm hand starts rubbing up and down his back while the cold one disappears, and then something warm and heavy is thrown over his shoulders. 

Steve feels like he spends a small eternity this way, trembling and half awake, repeating the same thing over and over, until it finally seems like he’s run dry. He feels drained and miserable. He opens his eyes and has to blink to bring things into focus, only to find that he’s still holding on to Bucky’s jacket like a lifeline.

Slowly, Steve disentangles himself from Bucky. The blanket falls off his shoulders but he doesn’t bother picking it up. He sniffles and tries to wipe his nose with the back of his hand, but there isn’t much Steve can do and he gives up on it. 

“I’m sorry,” he mutters quietly, not really looking at Bucky, not really sure if he’s apologizing for being a mess or for letting him fall. Probably both, Steve thinks.

Bucky is quiet for a while and Steve counts his own heartbeats as he waits for the judgment he’s been due for his whole unnaturally long life. 

“Look at me,” Bucky says softly. Steve swallows hard as he does. Bucky’s eyes are shiny too. “I never blamed you. Not when I fell,” he gestures at the metal arm, “not when they made me into this, and not when I got out. It’s not your fault.” Steve shakes his head. Apparently, he hasn’t run out of tears, and so he has to blink them away. The next thing he knows Bucky is grabbing him by the collar of his shirt and pulling Steve towards him. “Listen to me,” he hisses, suddenly angry, “do not blame yourself for shit other people did. My life is  _ not _ in your hands.”

Steve gulps and nods. All he can see is Bucky’s face, inches away from his and he loses track of what’s happening, and then he can’t help himself, he touches it. He lightly runs his fingers over the stubble on Bucky’s cheek and Bucky sucks in a breath, letting go of his shirt.

“I’m sorry,” Steve says again, dropping his hand and averting his eyes and hoping he can get away with it because he was asleep a few minutes ago and doesn’t know what he’s doing. The trick has worked for him before after all. He chances a look at Bucky after a moment, and finds him staring off into space as if he were trying to figure something out. 

A moment later, Bucky shakes his head and stands up. “I’m hungry,” he announces.

“I can,” Steve starts, ready to spring into action, “I can whip up something, just gimme a minute.”

“No,” Bucky stops him. “I wanna do it.”

Steve blinks at him for a second, before nodding. “Okay,” he agrees, looking up at Bucky. “Okay, Buck. You’re welcome to use whatever you want.”

Bucky seems to hesitate for a moment. “I—I don’t know if I remember any recipes.”

“We could check the internet,” Steve suggests. This whole conversation feels surreal after what just happened, but he goes along with it because he doesn’t know what else to do. And he still feels like exposed wire and he’s half afraid that, if he’s left alone with his thoughts, he might spiral into despair again and finally beg Bucky to stay, so he stands up and grabs his phone, showing Bucky the way to the kitchen.

It’s almost five in the morning, he notices, so he suggests they make breakfast.

“Pancakes?” Bucky asks with a raised eyebrow. Steve shrugs. “Think we can make them from scratch?”

“Yeah, Buck,” Steve assures him, so in love and so desperate to do the right thing that he feels like he’s going to explode any minute now. He smiles and tries his best to pretend this is just the two of them, and there’s no history hovering above their heads like a dark cloud. “I think we can manage that.”

\---

Between the two of them, they do manage to produce a tall stack of somewhat round pancakes and a pot of coffee. And sure, Steve does half burn the first batch, while simultaneously leaving the middle kind of raw, until Bucky benches him and takes over to cook a much neater one, but Steve thrives with the coffee maker, and he throws Bucky a triumphant smile which is met with a snort and an eye roll, though it almost feels like Bucky’s gazer lingers a little. It’s probably Steve’s imagination, so he doesn’t dwell on it.

Once they finally feel like there’s enough to feed the two of them, they set the table in companionable silence. Steve opens a cupboard and passes a couple of plates, mugs, and cutlery to Bucky, who organizes it all on the table. It feels so incredibly domestic, it makes Steve homesick. They’ve lived so many moments exactly like this, Steve should never have taken them for granted. Now he catches himself staring at Bucky more than once and has to literally shake himself out of it, before Bucky realizes what he’s doing. 

They eat quietly for some time, both devoting their attention to the food in front of them. Bucky chews slowly, like he’s savoring every bite, so Steve forces himself to slow down as well.

It surprises him when Bucky is the one to break the silence.

“You know what’s strange,” he starts quietly. Steve looks up at him with a raised eyebrow. “Now that things are coming back to me?”

“What’s that, Buck?”

Bucky takes a moment to work out his thoughts. Steve waits.

“Some days… some days are just—so long,” Bucky says as he stirs his coffee. “And there’s nothing to do, really, and... I don’t know, I feel useless? I think. I had a purpose with Hydra.” Steve frowns and Bucky is quick to amend. “Don’t get me wrong, I’d never be  _ that _ again, but… don’t you—don’t you miss having a job?”

Steve huffs. “I  _ have _ a job, Buck.”

But Bucky just rolls his eyes at him. “I mean something that gets you out of the house every day, five days a week, and pays you some shit salary you complain about every week, but that makes you feel productive, useful.”

Truth be told, Steve doesn’t exactly share Bucky’s sentiment. Between being sick all the time and then getting into the army, he didn’t really have that many regular jobs in his life, so he can’t exactly relate, but he sympathizes. “Do you want a job, Bucky?” he asks carefully.

Bucky shrugs. “I’ll find one, when I, uh, when I’m ready.” He doesn’t elaborate beyond that and Steve doesn’t press him to. He wants to tell Bucky that whatever he needs; money, clothes, a place to stay, he can count on Steve, but he knows how that conversation would go, so Steve saves his breath and shoves a forkful of pancake in his mouth to keep himself from pouring his heart out.

They go back to eating quietly and Steve takes a moment to study Bucky. He looks well rested and a hell of a lot better than he did when he got here yesterday, but there is still some tiredness lingering under his eyes and Steve’s heart clenches in his chest a little.

“Before I freaked out,” he asks tentatively, “did you get some rest?”

“Yeah, I just had a bad week.”

“Bad how?”

“Insomnia bad,” Bucky explains. “They kept me awake sometimes... during missions.”

“I know,” Steve says automatically as he pours them more coffee, only to regret it immediately.

Bucky halts, the fork halfway to his mouth. He blinks at Steve “What?”

“I read a file,” Steve tells him. There’s no point in lying.

Bucky’s fork clatters loudly on the plate as he drops it. “I can’t believe you.” He shakes his head disappointed. “Why would you do that? What kind of messed up morbid curiosity — ”

“It’s not morbid curiosity,” Steve protests, setting his own plate aside. “I had to.”

“Why?” He sounds so upset that Steve wants to punch himself. “What could you possibly hope to gain from that?”

“It’s not about that,” Steve counters. He can’t really tell Bucky about his plan, not yet anyway. Bucky wouldn’t accept his help, and worse, he might stop coming, go completely off the grid if he suspects Steve is about to put his name out there, even if his intentions are good and he’s pretty confident in Pepper’s abilities. Bucky is counting on his anonymity and Steve can’t just pull the rug out from under him. “I’m just—I’m just trying to help, Buck,” he says honestly, because, in spite of it all, Steve can’t lie to him.

His words seem to be the right ones for once, and Bucky softens a little. He shakes his head. “You don’t have to,” he mutters softly.

“I know, but I  _ want _ to.” Steve offers him a small smile. “End of the line, remember?” 

For a moment, time seems suspended, and Steve’s afraid he said the wrong thing again, but then Bucky nods, he returns Steve’s smile with an equally tiny, fragile one, but it’s there and Steve basks in it like it’s the sun after a stormy night.

Steve feels entranced. He holds Bucky’s gaze and it’s like neither of them can– _ wants _ –to look away. Bucky licks his lips, Steve’s breath hitches, and his hand, like it has a mind of its own, reaches for Bucky’s on the table before Steve even realizes what he’s doing. 

Bucky pulls away before Steve can touch him. He averts his eyes and Steve clears his throat.

“Uh,” Bucky starts after a pregnant pause. “Do you mind if I–I used your bathroom?”

Steve just blinks at him for a beat, the words taking some time to register. Then he shakes his head and snaps himself out of it, whatever  _ it _ was. “Sure, of course. You’re welcome to whatever you want. If you wanna take a shower, there are clean towels under the sink.”

“Thanks,” Bucky nods. Then he stands up as Steve stammers the directions to the bathroom, and doesn’t look back as he goes.

It’s a long time until Steve gets up and starts tidying up the kitchen. He hears the shower running after a few more minutes and smiles to himself, pleased. They’re making progress, he thinks. Bucky spent the night, he agreed to breakfast and accepted the offer of a shower. Maybe soon Steve will be able to ask him to stay and he might even say yes. Honestly, Steve can’t wait to have Bucky back in his life for good.

He puts the dishes in the sink for later and cleans the table. He goes slow, for lack of anything else to do, and then goes to his bedroom to get changed and find Bucky something to wear as well. All the while, the shower keeps on running. Steve doesn’t think anything of it at first, he’s glad Bucky is taking care of himself, and it’s not like they’ll run out of water so he lets him be.

But then some more time passes. Steve checks his phone and realizes Bucky has been in the bathroom for almost twenty minutes. He ponders what to do for a moment, standing in front of the door and trying to listen to any sound besides the running water. 

There is nothing.

As worry starts to creep into him, Steve knocks. “Bucky?”

Silence.

He tries again. “Hey, Buck, you okay in there?”

Nothing.

Steve takes hold of the handle. “Buck? Buck, I’m coming in,” he warns. He really, really doesn’t want to make things awkward for either of them, but the idea that Bucky might be passed out, or having a seizure on the other side of the door is enough to set Steve’s priorities straight. 

He’s fully prepared to bring the door down if he has to, but when Steve tries turning the handle, there’s the familiar click, and the door swings open, unlocked.

“Buck?” Steve calls again as he steps inside, but it’s an exercise in futility. Bucky is long gone. Steve turns off the shower.

He closes his eyes. 

Letting out a deep, tired sigh, he stands in the middle of his bathroom, hands on his hips, feeling like a complete idiot for God knows how long until his phone beeps loudly, and then, because apparently he can’t catch a fucking break, Steve reads the message to find he’s due at a press conference in forty-five minutes.


	7. Nothing else matters, does it?

When Steve gets to the Tower he’s barely on time, and has no idea if he’s supposed to say something to the press and, if so, what that might even be. He wasn’t there for debriefing, in fact, he’s almost sure he hasn’t handed in his report yet because, well, he hasn’t written one, and so, he doesn’t know what kind of information they are allowed to share with the general public, if any.

He spots Natasha while one of Tony’s people applies some sort of makeup to his face to hide the glowing sweat on his forehead. She quickly picks on the desperation written all over his face and smirks.

“Don’t worry,” Nat says in lieu of a greeting as she approaches, “You’re just here to look pretty. Tony’s doing most of the talking today.”

Steve frowns and is promptly scolded by the makeup artist. Right. No wrinkles. Don’t mess up her work. He shoots her an apologetic grin before turning his attention back to Nat.

“Shouldn’t I be doing that? I mean, this was Hydra.”  _ And I’m the captain of this team _ , he thinks, but leaves it unsaid because he’s surprisingly okay with no one remembering that right now. Steve’s not one to shy away from responsibility, not at all, but now there is something more important in his life than the whole dog and pony show, and he just can’t bring himself to care.

“And that’s exactly why you’re not talking,” Nat tells him, unaware of his internal turmoil. “You’re too involved in this. It’d be like a surgeon operating on a family member. Trust me, you don’t need this kind of pressure on you, Steve.”

He nods at her, grateful. 

Then, before he knows it, they’re being ushered to the big press room at the end of a corridor where the rest of the Avengers, minus Bruce and Thor, are already sitting at the long table on the stage with the reporters in front of them.

As he takes his seat, Steve sends a silent thanks to whoever assigned their places and put him on the other side of the table from Tony. Not that Steve needs to worry about causing any kind of scene, though, because Tony does a really great job of pretending he’s not there when Steve walks by him.

Sam throws him a slightly worried glance, but Steve simply shakes his head and sits down beside him.

And then it starts.

Tony addresses the reporters, beginning with a joke and easily captivating his audience. Steve tunes it all out. For some reason, there’s a pen and paper in front of each one of them. He uncaps his pen and starts idly doodling before Tony even gets to the punchline. He’s so engrossed in it that it takes him some time to realize his phone has just vibrated twice in his pocket.

Steve contemplates ignoring it. Pretty much everyone who would try to get in touch with him is sitting at this table right now, and he really doesn’t feel like socializing beyond what he already has to do here, not when part of him is still reeling from what happened this morning. But then the phone vibrates a third time, and curiosity gets the best of him.

_ I’m sorry _ , reads the first message from an unsaved number. Steve frowns at his phone. It could be someone texting the wrong person, he thinks, but then he reads the second message and his heart skips a beat.

_ For leaving like that... _

Bucky.

_ And wasting all your hot water. _

Steve snorts loudly, forgetting momentarily where he is. To make matters worse, the sound is amplified by the microphone in front of him so, when he looks up, he finds every single pair of eyes in the room looking at him.

“Excuse me, Rogers,” Tony snaps, glaring at him, “Do you have something to add?”

_ Shit. _ Steve must have interrupted him. He clears his throat, feeling the heat crawl up his cheeks in embarrassment. “I’m sorry, uh…” Then he’s standing up before he can think better of it. “I’m sorry,” he repeats, this time to the reporters. “There’s… I have some matters to attend to.”

“Does it have to do with the mission?” 

The question comes from the crowd of reporters in front of him. It feels like something he should answer, to put them at ease, so he bends over the microphone and clears his throat again.

“Uh, no. No, this is personal,” he says, then practically runs out of the room, still feeling every eye on him. 

He doesn’t go far, in case he’s needed back. So he stands just outside the door while he racks his brain for how to answer Bucky’s texts. Steve doesn’t even know how he got his number.

Sam comes after him not a moment later. 

“It’s Barnes, isn’t it?” he asks, and Steve freezes for a second before he continues. “You’re worried about him.”

Steve lets out a shaky breath. It’s not like Sam is wrong.

“You worried about how this might affect him, all this Hydra stuff?”

Steve nods. “It’s not great,” he admits. “Honestly, I was hoping to have some kind of statement from Pepper before going on the news about our fighting Nazis.” First DC and now this. It’s just a matter of time until someone starts digging around those Hydra files Nat dropped and finds out about the Winter Soldier. And if they only scratch the surface, all they’ll see is what Bucky has done under Hydra’s control. “I don’t want them to have any control over his image.” Steve shakes his head. The public would jump to conclusions and put a target on Bucky’s back. “But now I’m not even sure she’ll help me anymore, so…” He drops his shoulders, defeated. 

Sam gives him a sympathetic look. “Give Stark some time. It’s all too fresh right now, and who knows, Ms. Potts might still be on board.”

“Yeah, who knows… Listen, you should go back.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m alright, Sam.” Sam looks a little skeptical. “Really.”

“Okay,” he relents after a moment. “If you say so.”

Steve smirks at him. “So.”

Sam rolls his eyes at him. “You’re so cheesy. If only they knew,” he teases, gesturing at the room full of reporters behind him.

“Good thing they don’t,” Steve shoots back as Sam heads inside.

\---

He’s still pacing outside the press room, alternating between rereading Bucky’s messages and gripping at the roots of his own hair for lack of something else to distract him, when he hears the door behind him.

“God, you’re an ass,” Tony says annoyed.

Steve turns around to face him, guilt flooding like acid in his stomach. “Tony — \--” he starts, but Tony doesn’t give him an opening.

“You know,” he cuts in, crossing his arms over his chest, “of the stuff I’ve heard about you growing up? I never actually thought you were an asshole.” Then he hums and shakes his head. “Guess I was wrong.”

He starts walking away, but Steve can’t help himself and speaks before Tony gets too far. “I really am sorry.”

“Yeah, you can shove that up your ass for all the good it does,” Tony shoots back, but then he seems to think that isn’t enough and he comes to a halt, spinning on his heels to glower at Steve. “Pepper is still helping you, by the way,” Tony tells him angrily, “because she’s a better person than you deserve.”

“Thank you,” Steve says as relief washes over him. It must show on his face because Tony snorts.

“Yeah, you tell her that. I want nothing to do with this.” He shakes his head. “You don’t care about anything or anyone else.” He doesn’t give Steve an opening. “It’s all just  _ him _ to you. Nothing else matters, does it?”

He’s right and they both know it, though part of Steve wishes he could deny it. But Bucky  _ is  _ the most important person in his life, and Steve already had to live so long thinking he was gone, and before that, a whole life where he had to downplay his feelings. And he is so, fucking, tired of that. So he lets Tony think whatever he wants to think when he asks quietly, “Don’t you have anyone like that in your life?”

“Of course!” Tony spreads his arms in a gesture that says  _ obviously _ . “Pepper,” he says without hesitation. “But that’s different, she’s — \--” He halts and blinks in confusion at Steve for a second. Then he snorts loudly, rolling his eyes. “Of course, of  _ fucking  _ course.” And part of Steve wants to rush into denial, old fear still clinging to him, but mostly he just feels exhausted. He’s not on Tony’s good side anyway. 

Tony shakes his head, a hand over his mouth.

“I should have guessed,” he says, but it seems like it’s more to himself than Steve. “You’re a goddamn — ” Steve flinches, he doesn’t mean to, he’s not scared of Tony or anything, but it still feels like the kind of reaction he’s been waiting for his whole life, and he can’t help it. He has only half a second to hope that it’s gone unnoticed until Tony snaps his mouth shut and shoots him a slightly horrified look. “Idiot,” he says after a beat. “I was gonna say idiot. Jesus.”

Steve nods. “Okay.” He guesses that’s better than what he’d been expecting. It’s a lot better than what he deserves from Tony anyway. 

He looks down at his hands toying with the cell phone between them. Of all the people Steve’s ever imagined having this conversation with, Tony wasn’t really at the top of the list, but part of him is a little relieved, in a way. At least now maybe Tony will see why Bucky is so important to him. Steve hopes that counts for something.

“Look,” Tony says, “I still really hate you right now.” Steve looks up at him and nods. He understands. “But um — I hope you know, uh — It’s okay now, I mean, nobody is gonna arrest you or anything.”

Steve huffs and tries to offer Tony a small smile, but he’s pretty sure it comes out more like a grimace than anything. “I know.”

“And whatever you are...” Tony goes on like he can’t wait for this to be over, but also doesn’t want to be the one to have to say this. “Nobody is gonna give you shit about it, I mean, some people might, but no one on the team. No one’s gonna look at you differently.”

Steve nods again, grateful. “Bisexual,” he reveals in a small voice, heart racing and not really making eye contact, just enough to catch Tony’s impressed face for a split second. 

“I…” he draws out, “did  _ not  _ expect you to know that word.”

“Yeah, I’ve done some research on the scary magic machine,” Steve deadpans, holding up his phone.

Tony rolls his eyes. “Asshole.” Then he shakes his head and shoots Steve a more serious look. “I’m not gonna tell anyone,” he promises. “That’s for you to do in your own time.”

“Thank you,” Steve says softly.

He  _ is _ thankful. He’s always expected the worst if anyone found out, and now he’s given that information freely to Tony, knowing he could very well use it to destroy his image or, worse, Bucky’s. Although Steve is pretty sure the knowledge of his feelings wouldn’t really hurt Bucky now, and he doesn’t exactly care what people think of him either way, but mostly, he doubts Tony would ever stoop so low. 

Tony simply shuffles his feet, seemingly uncomfortable with the weight behind Steve’s words. “Yeah, don’t mention it. Seriously,  _ never _ mention it. You’re still the guy who lied to me.” He throws Steve a hurt glance. “And your — _ he’s  _ still the guy who killed my mom. That shit doesn’t just wash away.”

“I know.” Steve wishes there was something physical he could do or offer to make things right. Logically, he understands where Tony’s coming from, and Steve can’t just ask him to be okay with it, but the protective part of him speaks louder, and mostly he just wants to literally shield Bucky from all the hate he doesn’t deserve because of the things he was made to do. So, yeah, Steve would gladly stand there and let Tony punch him until he felt better, if that was all it took. Unfortunately for him, it’s been proven, time and again, that punching can’t solve everything.

\--- 

Pepper finds him just as he’s about to leave the Tower.

“Steve,” she calls. 

He turns around to catch her rushing over to him. “Pepper, I was going to tell him — ”

She waves his excuse away with a small smile. “Bad timing, I know.”

“Listen, if this is uncomfortable for you,” Steve insists, even though Pepper doesn’t seem like she’s about to tell him to go fuck himself. “I’ll understand.”

“Oh, no,” She says, “I’m still on board. No changes there. Actually, I’m going to need  _ your _ help now.”

“What do I need to do,” he asks, not missing a beat. He’s asked so much of her, Steve will do pretty much anything she tells him to if it means people will leave Bucky alone.

“Well, I believe I have enough of the gruesome stuff, so you don’t have to get me any more of that.” Steve breathes a sigh of relief. “I still need to work on how to use all that without exposing your friend too much.” She cringes a little. “That… no one needs to see that. Which brings me to my point, I’m going to need a statement from you.”

“Okay. Ah, what do I have to say?”

“Uh, whatever’s in your heart, really. I can tell the world what was done to James Buchanan Barnes, and sure, a lot of people will sympathize with his suffering, but at the end of the day, you’re the only one who truly knows him, the man he was before all of this happened to him. And to win over public opinion, and honestly, to pretty much avoid him being prosecuted, you’re going to have to show everyone who  _ your _ Bucky is.”

For a beat, Steve simply blinks at her. Pepper is basically asking him to tell the whole world to forgive Bucky’s doings because he was made to do them, but, most importantly, because Steve loves him. He knows it makes sense, in a rational way; Pepper is not telling him to come out, but to build Bucky’s character to the general public so they don’t turn on him when the deeds of the Winter Soldier become public knowledge. It’s not easy to rationalize that to his racing heart, though. “How do I do that?” 

“Well, it’s up to you really.” It’s not. She’s just humoring him. Steve can see it in her face.

“But,” he prompts with a smirk.

“But you are a beloved face, and something coming directly from you is more likely to be accepted than someone else reading a piece of paper and saying you wrote it.”

“I’ll do it,” Steve says. There’s not much to think about. He doesn’t really think  _ Steve Rogers _ is a beloved face, and he certainly won’t be after this, but she’s right. Captain America does have some credit, and Steve has no qualms about using it. He’ll gladly face whatever backlash he gets if that’s what it takes for Bucky to be free.

\---

Steve doesn’t wait around for the others to come out of the room. He wishes he could use the gym at the Tower to burn some of the energy, but he doesn’t feel like he’s welcome to linger yet–Tony said it himself, he’s still angry–so Steve beats a hasty retreat and is back in his apartment in record time, probably having broken some speed limits along the way but he can’t bring himself to care at the moment. 

He fishes his phone out of his pocket and rereads Bucky’s messages. If he’s honest with himself, Steve is still hurt about the way Bucky left this morning, even though he should be used to him leaving by now, but more than anything Steve doesn’t want to shut this new door of communication Bucky’s opened, so he bites his lip and starts composing a reply.

_ Sorry for taking so long, _ he types, only to immediately erase the whole thing. He’s pretty sure Bucky didn’t sit around the entire day waiting for an answer. 

Then his thumb hovers over the call button for a moment, but he doesn’t think Bucky would just accept his call, or worse, if he did, Steve is not sure he would know what to say, so he goes back to trying to conjure a text.

_ It’s fine Buck _

No. Because it isn’t.

_ Please come home _

This isn’t his home, Bucky would say.

_ I need you _

But that’s the last thing Steve would ever say to him, because his loneliness is not Bucky’s fault, and Steve can’t just spring it on him when Bucky definitely has more pressing concerns at hand.

In the end, he settles for what feels easier and doesn’t touch on the things he’s not ready to say.

_ It’s alright, Buck. You’ll foot the water bill next time you come around _

He doesn’t get a reply, not that he’s really waiting for one, even though he spends the rest of the day on the sofa, idly sketching until evening becomes night and night becomes morning, and Steve only stops when he can no longer ignore the cramps in his hand.

He’s pretty sure he’s been dozing off when he hears a soft knock on the door.

Steve is halfway through a yawn when he opens the door to Bucky, who’s holding a small paper bag that seems to be from the pastry shop around the corner.

“Gee, Rogers,” Bucky says just as Steve tries to stifle another yawn, “you look like shit.”

Steve snorts in response. He stretches his arms over his head, trying to find some relief for the kinks in his back from spending the night on the sofa. His t-shirt rises up as he does, the damn things never seem long enough these days.

Before him, Bucky’s breath hitches. Steve frowns at him as he lowers his arms, worried that the reason for Bucky’s visit might be that he’s been poisoned or shot up with something he’s allergic to.

“You okay?” Steve asks, concerned, ignoring Bucky’s jab.

Bucky frowns back at him. “What?” Then he shakes his head. “No. I mean, yeah, I’m good. I just–here...” He all but thrusts the pastry bag into Steve’s chest. Steve gets the message and relieves Bucky from it. “Just came to give you this.” Steve raises an eyebrow at him. “It’s an apology,” Bucky explains. “For the way I left yesterday.”

“Buck, you didn’t have to.”

“I know,” Bucky says, stubbornly. “But I wanted to.” He scratches at the back of his neck, looking almost shy as he gazes up at Steve from under thick dark eyelashes. “Sorry?”

Bucky bites at his lower lip as he waits for an answer and Steve is so gone for him it’s not even funny.

“I’m not mad,” Steve tells him softly.

“It was a shitty thing to do,” Bucky says with a shrug.

“It was,” Steve agrees, offering Bucky a lopsided grin before giving him a more serious look. “But whatever space you need to figure yourself out… I’m not gonna stand in the way of that.”

Bucky shuffles on his feet for a moment, and Steve absently registers that they’re still standing at the door, and he should probably step aside and welcome Bucky in, but, before he can say anything, Bucky speaks. 

“What happens then, uh, what happens after I figure myself out?” He asks, looking straight at Steve.

Steve considers his answer. This is as much of an opening as he’ll probably ever get to say what he wants, so he takes the chance and holds Bucky’s gaze as he says, “Then I’ll be here. Same as always. Of course,  _ of course _ , you can do whatever you want with your life but know that I’m  _ always _ gonna be here for you, Buck.”

“Why?” Bucky breathes out, and it might be Steve’s imagination, but it feels like they’ve somehow gravitated closer to each other, even though he doesn’t remember moving.

“I’m your friend,” Steve answers honestly, unable to speak above a whisper, lest he breaks the apparent spell they both seem to have fallen under. He runs his tongue over his lips, the movement attracting Bucky’s attention. “You matter  _ so much _ to me.” The words are out before he can think better of it, but, for once, Steve doesn’t regret voicing them. “I want you to be happy.”

They’ve had this conversation before. That day, Bucky had left right after telling him he didn’t think he still had a shot at happiness. Steve wants so bad to show him he was wrong, that he can be happy. What he wants more than anything is to give him a reason to be. 

“You think I can be?” Bucky asks. He’s so close to him now, Steve can practically feel Bucky’s breath against his face, and it’s his turn to glance at Bucky’s mouth.

Steve nods, transfixed by their closeness. His eyes travel up to meet Bucky’s wide ones. It might be Steve’s imagination, but they seem more expectant than afraid, and more, it feels like Bucky knows exactly what’s going through Steve’s mind, how the tiniest movement would be enough to close the gap between them. It’d be so easy. All Steve has to do is lean forward, just a little, and his lips would be touching Bucky’s. And if this were a fairy tale, that would have been enough to solve all their problems, it would soften all the pain and erase all the blood that plagues their history and they would live happily ever after… in a make believe world, one Steve wasn’t bound to protect for the rest of his life.

He takes a step back, suppressing a frustrated sight that threatens to break him in two.

Who’s he kidding? Steve can’t give Bucky the happiness he wants, that he deserves. Bucky will be free soon, to do whatever he wants with his life, and he’s more than earned that. But Steve? Steve gave up that freedom when he handed his body to science in exchange for a chance to fight for what he believed, to do his part. Now he’s got to do his part forever. Nobody has ever told him directly, but judging by the fact that SHIELD has been monitoring him ever since he woke up in their staged container, Steve is almost certain he’s still considered government property, although since Hydra, he’s not so sure what that means anymore. 

He never really tried to leave, though. Now he realizes, with some unease, that he doesn’t really know if he can.

Bucky blinks at him, confused for a moment at the sudden shift in the atmosphere. But he’s quick to recover.

“I should go.”

Steve nods, not knowing what to say.

So Bucky turns and is about to head out when Steve remembers something.

“Hey, Buck.” He halts, turning his head to look at Steve over his shoulder. “How d’you get my number?”

“Stevie,” Buck sing-songs, putting a hand over his heart in faux outrage. “I’m offended you even have to ask.”

Steve snorts out a laugh as Bucky leaves. He lets out a relieved breath. They’re good, then. If Bucky’s teasing him then Steve didn’t break anything vital when he pulled away just now. Not that he thinks Bucky was expecting anything from him, but — Steve smiles down at the pastry bag in his hand — he’s glad they’re on good terms.


	8. You don’t owe anybody anything

Steve finally manages to get some sleep after Bucky’s visit. When he wakes up, he showers and then, realizing he can’t remember the last time he ate. So he picks up Bucky’s gift from the coffee table and opens the pack to find two pistachio cannolis inside.

A fond smile spreads across Steve’s face.

Bucky remembers his favorite dessert.

He takes his time savoring the cannolis, but much like every other nice thing in his life, they’re over way too soon and Steve is left with just his thoughts again. And now that the idea that he isn’t a free agent has crossed his mind he can’t seem to shake it off. 

He even gathers pen and paper to start drafting what he wants to tell the press–how he’s going to paint Bucky’s picture to them. His supply of stories is anything but short, and it’s just a matter of organizing his thoughts into something coherent. And yet, Steve spends about ten minutes staring at the blank page before him, gripping the pen so tight he’s about to crack its casing, but no words come. The uneasy feeling leaves him unsettled, and he drops the pen on the table with a frustrated sigh.

Steve closes his eyes and rubs at his temple, giving up on the task for the moment as he reaches for his phone to send Natasha a text.

_When you started working for shield, did you have a contract_

Luck is on his side this time, and she answers him right away.

_Yup. kinda had to. It was that or a prison sentence_

The unease intensifies inside of him. As much as he racks his brain, Steve can’t remember ever signing any documents in the twenty-first century. He was never actually hired by SHIELD.

 _Y?_ Nat sends him a minute later.

 _SHIELD never rlly hired me,_ Steve tells her, leaving out the part where he thinks this never happened because, technically, he belongs to them.

 _Shame,_ Nat answers, _u couldve sued for unsafe work conditions_

Steve replies with a laughing emoji and lets the conversation die there. 

He decides to take another shot at writing his statement. 

It’s harder than he thought it would be. He has so much to say about Bucky, but Steve never had to tell any of it to the world before, and he finds that he has no idea where to even start. How does one describe a lifelong partnership that was torn in half by life and circumstance? How do you tell people that half of your heart beats inside another’s chest without sounding like a codependent mess? 

He catches sight of the pastry bag and smiles, picking up the pen.

 _Bucky Barnes is the kind of guy who will bring you your favorite dessert to apologize when he thinks he’s done something wrong, even if you have long forgiven him. It’s one of those little things about him that takes you some time to notice. He’s a bit of a people pleaser, he’ll deny if asked, but he is. Growing up, he always made sure_ _I_ _everyone had everything they needed before he took care of himself..._

Steve stops and rereads what he has so far. Well. There really isn’t much he can do about it. Steve knows the moment he opens his mouth, everyone will understand just how deep his feelings for Bucky run. He’s not embarrassed, but he doesn’t want to blindside Bucky with it either. 

Perhaps he should tell him first. 

Even if Steve can’t be what he needs, or wants. 

He sends Bucky a text, hands shaking and all.

_Dinner tomorrow @ 8_

He’s not really expecting a reply, so Steve jumps a little in surprise when the phone vibrates in his hand.

_k :)_

\---

Steve tries cooking. Emphasis on _try_ . It’s not like he’s completely helpless in the kitchen, but between being a sick child and later on a sick adult, the task of feeding him ended up on Sarah’s and then Bucky’s hands. He _can_ whip up a meal when he has to, that’s not a problem. Right now though, Bucky has just agreed to have dinner with him, so Steve figures he better have something a little more sophisticated than his usual spaghetti with meatballs. 

So he orders a bunch of stuff and decides to put his time and energy into something that’s more sentimental than nutritious. 

There’s one thing Steve can do, and do well at that, and after Bucky brought him Steve’s favorite dessert, it’s only fair Steve repays him by doing the same. So he spends his afternoon carefully working on his old chocolate cake recipe, exactly how he used to make it, whenever he and Bucky could spare enough money to buy the ingredients. A single egg, oil, water, flour, baking powder, as much cocoa as he could get his hands on, and enough sugar to give a man cavities just by looking at it. 

Steve pours everything in a bowl, measuring by eye like he used to, and lets the memories of doing this a hundred times before wash over him as he mixes everything together. He’d always leave some batter behind in the bowl for Bucky to lick clean, no matter how much their mothers tried to warn them about the dangers of raw eggs. 

Bucky would always make a whole mess, getting batter all over himself, and Steve, as he got older, would close his tiny hands into fists and silently pray for enough willpower to resist the urge to test how the chocolate would taste right off of Bucky’s face.

He blinks those thoughts away once the oven dings to tell him the cake’s ready. He sets it on the counter to cool and checks the clock on his phone. Time for _him_ to get ready.

Bucky arrives ten minutes after their dinner does. 

Steve’s just finished setting the table when he hears the door. He takes a moment to collect himself, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. He’s going to tell Bucky how he feels. It won’t be romantic and it won’t be desperate. Steve will ask nothing of him. He just needs Bucky to know; he’ll tell him because things are about to change, and with any luck, they’ll change for the better, but for that to happen, Steve will have to open his heart for the whole world to see, and Bucky deserves to be the first to know what’s inside. It’s mostly him after all.

Steve opens his eyes. He squares his shoulders and straightens his posture, and then he opens the door.

It’s like a punch in the gut when he does.

Bucky has cut his hair. It’s the first thing Steve’s brain is able to properly register. It’s about the same length as it used to be, and styled just as well. He has also shaved, Steve notices, as his eyes travel down Bucky’s frame. He’s wearing a soft worn out leather jacket over a henley, dark jeans, and scuffed black boots Steve’s pretty sure were part of the Winter Soldier gear. All of it makes for such a striking image Steve is at a loss for words.

Bucky’s always been good-looking. And he’s always made sure to look his best, even in the army. Steve has known that, has _acknowledged_ that, his whole life, so seeing Bucky like this really shouldn’t catch him by surprise, but it does. He feels blindsided by the whole picture before him. It’s like he’s seeing double; Bucky, the way he used to be, overlaying the man he is now, and it’s enough to mess with Steve’s head. All he can do is blink at him like an idiot.

Bucky clears his throat.

“Are you not going to invite me in again?”

Steve shakes himself out of the strange trance he fell under and takes in a shaky breath. “Sorry. Sorry,” he mutters, stepping aside. “Come on in, please.”

Bucky throws him an uneasy smile as he walks by Steve. “The hair was a bit much, wasn’t it?” He runs his flesh hand through it, self-conscious. “I don’t know why I did it. It’s not like I can be Bucky Barnes again.” The words are bitter and self-deprecating. They fill Steve with anger.

“You _are_ Bucky Barnes,” Steve says before he can think better of it. He doesn’t regret it, though. Even if Bucky rolls his eyes at him. “I’m serious. You changed, Buck. Life does that to people, maybe you more than most. But it doesn’t erase who you are.”

“You really think so?” Bucky asks him, small and quiet, and looking like he wants so bad to believe Steve’s words that it tugs at the strings of his heart.

“Of course,” Steve says, heartfelt. “I would never lie to you.” And after today, there won’t be a single thing Steve’s hiding from him anymore, he thinks. But he should probably ease Bucky into it first, so Steve shoots him a playful grin and says, “Seriously, though, you’re getting no complaints from me, pal. You clean up well, Buck.”

Bucky swallows and nods at him. If Steve didn’t know any better, he’d say Bucky’s even blushing a little. “Thanks,” he mutters under his breath, rubbing at the back of his neck.

Steve’s not really sure what to make of that reaction so he announces that dinner is ready and invites Bucky to the dining table before any kind of awkward silence has time to fall between them.

Steve had ordered enough Italian food–it really is a step up from his spaghetti, Tony himself had recommended the place once, when they were still on speaking terms–to feed a small army, so he’s not surprised by Bucky’s low impressed whistle when he catches sight of their dinner.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen this much food at once in my life,” Bucky confesses, sounding just this side of baffled.

“That’s what seventy years worth of army back pay can get ya,” Steve tells him as they start to dig in. “Wait until you get your own.” He shakes his head. “I’m telling you, Buck, your eyes are gonna fall outta your face when you see your bank account.”

Bucky scoffs like that’s the most absurd thing he’s ever heard. “Let’s not kid ourselves, Steve. Nobody’s giving me any money. Once people realize who I am, I’ll be lucky if I get a life sentence instead of the death penalty.”

Steve chews on his pasta slowly, deliberating on what to say. He knows where Bucky’s fear is coming from, but it doesn’t mean he likes to hear it out loud. “We don’t know how people will react to your story, Bucky. Maybe–maybe we should wait and see.” Bucky narrows his eyes at him, like he knows Steve is hiding something. “Just give it a chance?” Give _me_ a chance _,_ Steve wants to ask, but he shoves another forkful of fancy pasta in his mouth instead, and drops the subject.

Before him, Bucky simply shrugs in response. He doesn’t seem convinced by Steve’s words but he doesn’t argue further and Steve takes the win.

They don’t talk much after that. Bucky turns his focus to his food while Steve starts gearing up to what he has to say. _I’m gonna have to tell the world I’m in love with you so that you have a shot at being free and having the life you deserve_. It sounds like too much to dump on a person, even in Steve’s mind. He tries to polish it out as they clean the table and he’s still working on it when it’s time for dessert, so Steve gives himself a break.

“Hey,” he calls out as Bucky heads back to pick a remaining glass from the table, “I made you something,” Steve says when Bucky looks at him. “Take a seat.” he does, throwing him a curious glance. Then Steve decides to risk it a little and asks, “close your eyes.”

To his surprise, Bucky does so with a chuckle. 

“What’re you doing?”

“Just gimme a second,” Steve says and rushes to get the cake from the kitchen, cutting out a square and placing it on a regular plate, just the way they used to have it. He grabs a fork for good measure, even though they hardly bothered with one back then.

He realizes he’s holding his breath as he places the plate on the table in front of Bucky, who still has his eyes closed, but Steve can’t seem to exhale just yet.

“You can open now,” he says softly.

Bucky complies. His eyes meet Steve’s first. Steve looks down. Bucky follows his gaze and takes a sharp breath. 

“Steve,” he breathes, gazing up at Steve. 

Steve smiles at him. “You remember.”

“I do,” Bucky nods. He looks at the single square of cake as if it holds the secrets of the universe, and it makes Steve feel nervous, undeserving. 

“I haven’t made it since–since you shipped out,” he confesses, noticing himself starting to ramble, but unable to stop as Bucky forgoes the fork, just like Steve thought he would, and delicately picks up the piece of cake with his fingers. “The ingredients are all different now. It probably doesn’t taste the same.” 

Steve manages to shut his mouth when Bucky takes the first bite, his eyes closing again almost as a reflex as he chews. And Steve worries at his bottom lip as he waits for the verdict. Then, before he knows it, Bucky is staring at him again, eyes shining. 

“It tastes like home,” he says quietly and Steve feels his own eyes prickle.

After that, Steve gets the rest of the cake from the kitchen counter and they eat the whole thing in about five minutes while trying to hold back tears. It’s such an emotionally charged moment, Steve almost forgets what the actual purpose of this dinner is. 

A heavy sigh escapes him as he idly picks at the crumbs he let fall on the table cloth and flicks them back to the now empty tin. 

“Why the long face?” Bucky asks with a grin. He seems so at ease now, Steve hates that he has to disrupt that. “It’s not like you’ll have trouble buying stuff to bake as many cakes as you’d like with all the army money, plus whatever SHIELD pays you.” He stops to think about something, then he frowns at Steve. “ _Is_ SHIELD still paying you?”

In hindsight, Steve will probably blame the domestic atmosphere for causing him to let his guard down and answer unfiltered. “You know what, I’m not sure they ever did.”

Bucky’s frown gets more pronounced. “What do you mean?”

Steve shrugs. He walked straight into that one, so he might as well tell Bucky what’s on his mind for once. “Well, I came out of the ice and Fury recruited me for–you heard about the Battle of New York?”

“I’ve read about it.”

“Yeah, so. It made sense that I would help, right? So I did,” Steve says. “After that, it just–it was just a given that I would. I didn’t think anything of it, until–” _until I realized you would be free one day and I probably won’t._ “Now. I signed a document that allowed doctor Erskine to shoot me up with the serum,” Steve confesses. He’s never told this to Bucky and finds he can’t look him in the eye as he does now. “I guess I didn’t read the fine print.”

“What are you saying?”

“I–when I woke up I was inside this… container that’d been staged to look like it was from the forties. I knew something was wrong right away, and I tried to run, but a bunch of agents chased after me. Then I agreed to stay where they put me. When I was moved to DC, they bugged that apartment. There was an undercover agent living across the hall. Honestly, I never questioned anything, but… now I’m not so sure I ever could.” 

It’s the first time Steve’s put all the pieces together like that. As he relays them to Bucky, reality becomes clearer. 

SHIELD owns him.

Bucky’s staring at him with ever growing distress, which makes Steve assume they’ve reached the same conclusion. Unfortunately, before either of them has the chance to say anything, Steve’s phone lets out the familiar signal that says the Avengers are needed.

Bucky glares at the phone. He seems to know what it means too.

Steve reads the message. It tells him to be in the Tower as soon as possible.

“What if you don’t go?”

The question draws Steve’s eyes back to Bucky.

“I have to. It’s my job, I can’t _not_ do it.”

“Steve, you don’t owe anybody anything.”

“This isn’t about that, Buck,” Steve counters, shaking his head. “If I have the power to help, I _have_ _to_. I can’t just turn a blind eye.”

“You just–” Bucky starts, loud and throwing Steve an incredulous look. Then he pauses, takes a breath. “You just said you don’t know if you even have the power to say no, so why not try it now?” He gestures at the phone still in Steve’s hand. “There’s your chance. You can go later if you want,” he runs a hand through his hair, “ _fuck,_ I’ll even go with you. But you gotta tell them no first. You gotta show them you have agency, no matter what they say. No one owns you, Steve.”

Steve closes his eyes.

“I can’t.”

He hears the scrap of the chair against the floor as Bucky rises up. 

“This is worse than what Hydra did to me.”

“It’s not the same—” Steve counters, opening his eyes.

“No, didn’t you hear me, I said it’s _worse_. You are _willing_.” 

Steve’s breath hitches like he’s been sucker punched. He shakes his head. “It might be that I’m just being paranoid, Buck,” he offers, trying to diffuse the situation. “I can’t let that jeopardize the security of the world.”

Buck scoffs. “Do you ever get drunk on self-importance, Steve? The safety of the world is not in your hands.”

It’s Steve’s turn to push himself up, though he does so with enough strength to knock his chair backwards. “It kind of is actually,” he snaps, angry and hurt by Bucky’s words. In front of him, Bucky paces a little, slow and full of coiled rage like a caged animal. “I don’t have time for this right now. I have to go,” Steve says, turning around, his plan to tell Bucky how he feels already set on the back burner. 

“Whatever debt you think you owe,” Bucky says, he sounds so pained, Steve hates to be the cause of that and he stops to listen, “it’s been paid, Steve. You’ve died for the world once, you don’t have to do it again.” Bucky doesn’t take his silence as assent because he knows Steve better than that, so he aims lower. “If you go… don’t expect me to come back here.”

Steve squeezes his eyes shut to try and regain some sort of control. This is the downside of knowing one another so well, Steve knows how to hurt Bucky too. 

“I never do.”

He only allows himself to open his eyes after he hears the front door quietly shut in Bucky’s wake. Then, despite the way his fingers tremble and his vision blurs, Steve gets ready for work.


	9. I’ll hold you to that promise

Domestic terrorism.

They’ve been assembled to deal with goddamn domestic terrorism.

They haven’t even landed yet, and Steve’s already itching to punch his way out of here so he can go home and try to make some sense of everything that’s happened in the last few hours, preferably from the comfort of his bed. But, alas, when does Steve ever get his way in this life?

The quinjet is just about to touch down when Steve finishes rereading their intel. White supremacists wreaking havoc in a small town in the south. They’ve been assembled in such a hurry there wasn’t enough time to gather more information. The file doesn’t even have the name of the city, just coordinates. 

As they land in a clearing, as close as they can get to the town, Steve sets the file aside and puts on his helmet. He gets up and tightens the buckles of the shield on his arm.

“Why did you wanna know about my contract with SHIELD?” Nat asks, approaching him as she secures her widow bites up her wrists.

A bomb goes off somewhere outside. By the sound of it, it wasn’t far.

“Just curious,” Steve says, turning towards the back port. “Focus on your job now,” he tries to deflect.

Natasha snorts behind him. “What, like you’ve been doing?” Steve glances back at her, annoyed. She raises an eyebrow. “You’re a very bad liar.”

“So you’ve told me,” Steve answers dismissively. He’s about to head to the back of the quinjet and join the others as they wait for the port to lower itself when something stops him. He looks down to find Nat’s small hand on his forearm. He turns to face her again, ready to bark out orders if he has to, but the words die in his mouth the moment he sees the look on her face.

She is worried.

“What’s going on?” Nat asks, quiet enough so he’s the only one who hears.

Steve damn near deflates like a poked balloon at that. He’s still reeling from the fight with Bucky, and he feels like if anyone presses him, he’ll spill his guts until there’s nothing left. He can’t afford that now, though, so he just shakes his head. “Tell you later?”

Nat studies him for a moment, then she nods. “I’ll hold you to that promise, Rogers.”

Steve gives her a lazy salute and a half smile. “Yes, ma’am.”

And then they’re out. Steve gives each one of them directions on where to go, relieved that, despite the bad blood between them, Tony is still willing to follow his lead.

When they reach the center of town, what they find is absolute chaos.

There are two cars burning in the middle of the main street, blocking it like a barricade. There are groups of civilians, crying and screaming, scattered all around, some are right in the midst of the pandemonium, others seem to have managed to take shelter inside the public buildings and stores along the street. Steve instructs Sam to fly the civilians from the street to a secure building. He looks around, noticing the distinct lack of police officers. The first uniform he spots belongs to a dead man lying face down on the sidewalk.

“ _It’s a small town_ ,” Nat says on the comms, as if she could read his mind. “ _Worst crime here is probably drinking too much and pissing on your neighbor’s porch. No one was prepared for this. They never stood a chance_.”

It all paints a horrifying picture, but the scene that draws his eyes the most is the group of people, teenagers by the look of it, dressed like hippies Steve has seen in books, standing tall against the fire barricade that separates them from the white men with swastikas and confederate flags on the other side. The teenagers are silent, standing with their arms linked to one another, while on the other side, angry men shout slurs and point guns at them.

“ _Jesus_ ,” someone breathes out in his ear, but Steve doesn’t know who. His attention is somewhere else.

“ _Man, look at those weapons._ ” He recognizes Sam’s voice now, and again, Steve wonders if his friends are actually in his head. That’s exactly what he was looking at.

“ _Yeah_ ,” Clint agrees. “ _Where do a bunch of suburban second husbands get that kind of firepower?_ ”

“Hydra,” Steve answers absently. He knows all those guns intimately. He’s been shot by some of them not so long ago. That is the Winter Soldier’s arsenal.

“ _The Captain is right,_ ” Jarvis’s British voice joins them. “ _The attack was scheduled in an online forum by an account bearing the Hydra symbol as its profile picture_ ”

“ _Thanks, J,_ ” Tony says. “ _But I think that’s all beside the point now. We need to get those kids out of here before the fourth reich over there starts shooting_.”

He’s right. They’re wasting time.

“Tony, Sam, get them to safety,” Steve instructs. “Clint, Nat, make sure the hostiles stay where they are.”

“ _What about you, Cap?_ ”

Steve smirks, even though he’s not sure Clint can see him.

“I’m gonna fulfill my purpose,” Steve tells him, completely deadpan, flexing his fingers before tightening them into fists. “I’m gonna punch Nazis.”

\---

The plan immediately starts to crumble when Steve reaches the barricade. The hostiles get agitated at the sight of the Avengers, turning their guns towards Steve and then Tony and Sam as they fly above them. To make matters worse, the kids refuse to move.

“We can’t let them win,” a girl with pink hair argues with Steve through the cacophony of grown men screaming at her and her friends. 

“They won’t,” Steve assures her. “That’s why we’re here. But I need you to be safe first so I can do my job.” The girl’s eyes suddenly fill with tears.

“They tried to kill my girlfriend,” she tells him in a shaky voice. “Just because we—”

Steve puts a hand on her shoulder. “It’s gonna be alright,” he promises in his best Captain America voice, stern and reassuring. 

After a moment, the girl nods at him, determined through her tears, and turns to look at her friends down the line. Then, as one, they all take a step back. But, before they can move further, a shot is fired from the other side of the barricade. One of the kids goes down. The rest of the group panics and breaks the line to go help them. Steve doesn’t waste time, he hurls the shield toward the general direction the bullet came from, and then all hell breaks lose.

The shield doesn’t bounce back to him, so he shouts at Sam and Tony to get the kids and at Barton and Nat to cover them while he jumps over the fire, landing fist first on one of the men in the front line. 

Steve punches his way through angry red faces, humans reeking of privilege from the clothes they wear to the weapons they carry. He can’t wrap his mind around it. There’s no trace of mind control in these men, none of them are muzzled like Bucky was when he was sent to kill Steve. None of them seem to have a single sign of struggle on their fair skins. Their eyes are clear. They chose to be here.

Bucky never had a choice.

It makes his blood boil. To think of the guilt Bucky still carries for actions that weren't his own, for choices he never got to make.

But it's more than that. Steve gave up his body, his freedom, his life, in a way, to defeat the organization whose flags these people are lifting so proudly.

He's watched countless people die from friends to brothers in arms to innocent civilians. So much was sacrificed back then to put an end to this hateful ideology. Yet here it is again, all these years later, just because so many white men refuse to accept the fact that the color of their skin doesn't make them any better than everyone else.

He feels sick to his stomach at the sight before him.

More of them spill out from a two-story building at the end of the street, and Steve doesn’t stop to think about what he’s doing as he heads inside the nest. He feels like he’s on autopilot, his body working on muscle memory as his mind wanders all over the place. He dislocates a finger on a man’s nose on his way to the second floor, not having recovered his shield, his only defense is to push forward.

A bullet grazes his arm, and the heavy feeling in the pit of his stomach tells Steve that entering the building was a mistake. There’s no way back now, though, so he ignores the sting and keeps going. 

Perhaps his assumptions were right, Steve thinks, finally getting a short break when he reaches the rooftop. He idly scans his surroundings, his heart not really in it as he walks around the narrow space. There are a few old chairs and a couple of worn out sofas lying around, but no railing around the edge. Steve waves off his own concern, it doesn’t look like anyone lives here anymore. He keeps walking around, his brain going a mile a minute. Perhaps he really can’t choose when or where or even _if_ he wants to fight, but Steve is glad he came today. These people went willingly down an evil path that the most important person in his life was forced into. He might never get Bucky back for good, and here these men are, killing people and terrorizing kids like it’s a game.

Bucky was wrong. Steve _does_ still have a debt to pay. He was given this body in order to rid the world of people like this. And he’s only been failing so far. He needs to end the cycle.

He doesn’t see it coming.

With his mind miles away, and his guard down, Steve doesn’t even _hear_ the shot. 

All he knows is that, suddenly, there’s a piercing pain ripping through the side of his skull.

In and out, lightning quick and then something hot and wet is running down his temple. 

He stumbles, stunned. 

His knees threaten to give out from under him. But it’s not like he even has any balance left. 

He takes an unstable step back.

This proves to be a mistake when his feet are met with nothing but air.

Steve’s not oriented enough to really grasp what’s happening, but his stomach seizes up the same way it did when he was at the worst part of a roller coaster ride, the same way it did when he zip-lined onto a moving train, bottomless and freezing.

And that, more than anything is what tells him something is wrong. 

He manages to turn his head slightly, pain sparkling his vision, and he feels like he’s in slow motion as the ground rushes up to meet him.

“ _Steve!_ ” Sam’s panicked voice echoes distantly through his comms but it barely registers against the spikes down his back when it hits the unforgiving floor beneath him, knocking all the air right out of his lungs.

“ _Cap is down,”_ someone else says.

 _“Oh my God!_ ”

_“Steve!”_

Steve has time to hear one more distressed call of his name as the impact of his body crashing down makes his head bounce off the concrete twice before he settles. 

Then everything goes dark and quiet, and he doesn’t hear anything at all.


	10. We’ve let this go for too long

He feels like he’s floating, weightless, like he doesn’t have a body anymore. 

Maybe he doesn’t. Maybe he’s finally dead...

For a moment, he’s blessed with an overpowering sense of nothingness. It’s peaceful. 

For once in his life, he’s not consumed by constant overthinking, and he basks in it. 

He could stay like this forever, and perhaps, he will. It’s so quiet. Painless… 

Until it isn’t.

Like acid being poured into an open wound, Steve feels his insides split open from his back all the way to his core. He tries to take a breath but ends up choking on it, and for a few seconds, he thinks he might be drowning. It doesn’t make sense. He was nowhere near water. Come to think of it, he’s not sure where he is now either.

He’s still engulfed in darkness, but he’s not blissful anymore. He’s hurting all over. And even though he’d always thought he had a pretty good understanding of what pain is, Steve has never felt anything like this before, not even when his body was literally stretched out by chemicals and radiation. This is a lacerating ache that travels all the way from his tail bone up to his neck. Then there’s the side of his head, throbbing so hard Steve can barely focus on anything else. 

There are hurried voices speaking loudly around him, but he can’t tell if they’re real or just in his head, just as he can’t say for certain if his eyes are open or not, despite the fact that he can’t see anything. A sob tears its way through him. Steve doesn’t feel scared often, but he is now. He is terrified because he still can’t breathe without choking and the pain in his back and head is so excruciating his heart is starting to beat out of rhythm.

A fresh wave of pain brings bile up his throat and now Steve  _ does _ know what he’s drowning in. It makes the ringing in his right ear intensify, getting louder and louder until he falls into nothingness again.

\---

"It's gonna be alright,” someone whispers close to his ear in a shaky breath. Then there’s a whimper, but Steve thinks that might’ve come from him. “Shh,” the same voice adds, “don’t try to move, you’re gonna be okay.” 

Steve feels light fingers combing his hair back off his forehead, and he wonders if he’s dreaming. He must be, because the voice sounds like Bucky, and he sounds like he’s crying. It’s a strange dream. Why would Bucky be here? Steve can’t patch him up now. He hurts all over. In fact, the pain is getting worse by the second.

He gasps.

“What’s happening?”

“I think his body is burning through the anesthetic,” says another voice. This one sounds like Nat, but in a tone Steve has never heard from her. Scared. “I’m gonna call the nurse, get out of here.”

_ No _ , Steve wants to protest,  _ stay _ . But he can’t think beyond the pain right now. It clouds over everything else, searing hot like a flame licking down his spine. Steve tries to arch his back as if it could offer him some reprieve, but all it does is make things worse. He wants to scream, but there’s something blocking his airway.

There are more voices around him now, urgent ones. Steve doesn’t know what they’re saying, but it doesn’t matter, because then the dream escapes him and he goes under again.

\---

He wakes up slowly this time. The feeling of his body, heavy under the blankets coming back to him in parts. Steve blinks his eyes open, squinting against the harsh lights that make his head ache. All he can see are blurred shapes in different hues. 

“Hey,” Bucky’s voice calls softly as a tall dark silhouette comes into his line of sight. 

He must be dreaming again if Bucky’s still here. Bucky never stays. 

Steve wants to talk to him, but when he tries he realizes there’s something in his mouth, going all the way down his throat. On instinct, he raises a hand to try and pull whatever it is out of him. But before he gets the chance someone grabs his wrist.

“Don’t,” Bucky’s voice tells him softly, like he’s afraid Steve might break if he’s too loud, “that’s there to help you breathe.”

But Steve doesn’t care what his dream-conjured version of Bucky says. He’s starting to panic at the intrusive feeling of a tube down his throat, which feels like it’s closing up around it. And, despite Bucky's warning, there’s not enough air going to his lungs, so he yanks his arm free and tries to reach his mouth again. 

Again he doesn’t make it.

Suddenly, his head gets a lot heavier, his blurry vision darkens even further and the fight goes out of him. His eyes slip shut and he loses track of what’s happening as it all becomes quiet again.

\---

The next time he wakes up he feels a little more aware of things, so he doesn’t try to move or even open his eyes. His head hurts a bit, but he finds that if he focuses on keeping his breathing even, he can pretty much ignore the pain. At least there’s nothing shoved down his throat anymore. He’s not sure what it was, but it left him with a raw feeling in his throat. 

Judging by the constant beeping and the antiseptic smell, Steve’s almost certain that he’s in a hospital, but he’s still having a hard time processing why. He remembers he was on a mission, but not much else comes to him now. He doesn’t spend a lot of energy on it, though. Instead, he tries to pay attention to the other sounds around him, not ready to open his eyes just yet.

It doesn’t take long for the hushed voices to breach his foggy brain. So Steve focuses on that.

“...told you, we lost sight of him.” Natasha. She sounds just this side of pissed off.

“Well, you should’ve kept better tabs on each other.” That’s Bucky again, and he seems even angrier than Nat. “Aren’t you supposed to be this oh-so-great team?”

“Don’t act as if this isn’t on you as much as it is on us.”

“How?” Bucky hisses, like he’s fighting the urge to raise his voice. “How is this my fault? I wasn’t even there.”

“There’s your answer. You weren’t there. He’s been tearing apart at the seams for weeks. I recognize my part in this, I could see Steve wasn’t alright and I… I should’ve confronted him.” There’s a pause, and then she goes on quietly. “He’s been trying so hard to do right by you.”

Silence stretches for so long after that that Steve was beginning to think he might have fallen asleep again when Bucky speaks.

“He is,” he says softly. “He is doing right by me. And I’ve just — I’ve just been  _ so  _ fucking ungrateful to him.” They fall silent again, and Nat must make a face because Bucky asks, “He didn’t tell you people, did he?”

“Tell us what?”

Bucky seems to hesitate before speaking again, his voice turned to steel.”If you use this against him somehow I will hunt down each and every one of you. And I will hurt you.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’ve been going to him,” Bucky tells her. Then he rushes to add. “But he’s not harboring me or anything.”

“And what exactly is the harm in that?”

“Besides the fact that I’m a criminal?”

Steve can’t see her, but he’s pretty sure Nat’s rolling her eyes when she says, “Now, let’s not jump to conclusions.” But the amusement in her voice is soon replaced by something akin to sorrow after that. “It makes sense now. You come and you go and every time you leave you take a piece of him with you.”

“I don’t wanna hurt him,” Bucky says softly. “I feel like–if I stay too long, he’ll finally see I’m not the person that he remembers… that he wants.” 

Steve notices something warm and liquid run down the side of his face and realizes that he’s crying. The ache in his chest has nothing to do with physical pain this time. He wants so badly to tell Bucky that he’s wrong, that he will love him no matter what, but Steve doesn’t want to attract attention to himself right now, so he holds his body still and works on keeping his breathing even.

“I think you’re misguided,” Natasha tells Bucky. “You not staying hurts him more than letting him see how you’ve changed. Steve is not an idiot, he  _ knows _ you’re not the same. You should give him the chance to figure out for himself if he likes this new you.” 

One of them sniffles. There’s some shuffling around his bed and then a tiny gasp.

“I think he’s awake,” Bucky says. “Oh,” he breathes out, then a thumb softly wipes away the tear track running from Steve’s left eye down his ear. He takes hold of Steve’s hand on the same side. “You’re gonna be okay, Stevie,” Bucky tells him quietly. He seems to have forgotten Natasha’s there. He’s never used this voice with Steve when other people were around. Steve never really understood why. “I promise. It’s gonna be okay.” 

Nat hums somewhere behind Bucky and he lets go of Steve’s hand. 

“ _ Well, that _ certainly explains things.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Bucky shoots back defensively. Steve doesn’t understand what’s going on.

“There’s nothing wrong with it,” Nat says.

“I know that. But it’s not what you’re thinking.”

“I’m not thinking anything.” Steve can practically hear the smirk in her voice. “In fact, I’m going to keep not thinking while I grab a coffee… do you want anything?” Steve assumes that Bucky shakes his head. He knows from experience how hard it is to get Bucky to accept anything these days. He hears Nat’s soft steps to the door and the turning handle, but she stops before opening it. “James. You’re getting another shot. Don’t waste it.”

Nat’s gone before Bucky can say anything. There’s the scrap of a chair being pulled closer to the bed and Steve hears the rustle of Bucky’s clothes as he sits down. 

“Do you think she’s right, pal?” He doesn’t seem to be waiting for an answer, though, and in the silence that follows Bucky takes hold of Steve’s hand again, rubbing his thumb over the back of it while his left hand, the metal surprisingly warm against Steve’s skin, brushes the hair off Steve’s forehead. “I think she has a point,” Bucky confesses quietly. He keeps running his fingers through Steve’s hair, slow and soft and Steve feels himself being lulled back to sleep. Before he slips under completely he gives Bucky’s hand a light squeeze. He thinks Nat has a point too.

\---

The fourth time he wakes up Steve dares to open his eyes, and he’s instantly flooded with relief when he can see his surroundings clearly. He’s still in the hospital, but he thinks there might be less machinery around him than before, though he can’t tell for sure. His throat feels like sandpaper and his mouth is dry with disuse. He’s in desperate need of a glass of water, but when he turns his head around to look for it, Steve finds Sam sitting in a chair beside him. It’s such a familiar picture that it makes his lips tug upward a little.

“Sam,” Steve croaks.

Sam’s head snaps towards him so fast Steve is half afraid he might break his neck.

“Hey, man,” Sam says, getting up and starting to fuss with Steve’s pillows and blanket. 

There are a few scratches on Sam’s arm. 

The smile slips off Steve’s face as he remembers why he’s here. “The kids?” 

“They’re alright,” he says. “One of them was grazed on the shoulder, and they’re all still shaken as hell, I bet, but they’re fine. They’re gonna be okay,” he reassures Steve. Then his face morphs into the picture of unpleasantness, like he’s just tasted something sour. “Hitler’s middle-aged youth on the other hand...” Sam shakes his head. “Those assholes are gonna need way more than their expensive lawyers to get out of this one. I’m pretty sure the Second Amendment doesn’t cover Hydra issued arsenal.”

Steve hums in approval. He hopes they rot in jail. 

He catches sight of Sam’s arm again.

“And you, you okay? Everybody okay?”

“We’re all fine, Steve,” Sam says. “Don’t worry about us.” His words don’t match his expression, though. “How are  _ you  _ doing?” 

Steve deliberates on his answer, taking a quick inventory of his body. The dull headache is still there, but it’s easy to ignore. All his limbs are accounted for, and he can move the fingers on his hands just fine, but when he tries to wiggle his toes it doesn’t go that well. 

“What happened to me?” Steve asks hoarsely, trying to sit up.

“Hey, hey, take it easy.” Sam puts a hand on his shoulder and Steve, begrudgingly, stops struggling. He’s slightly out of breath from the little he moved and it sounds off all kinds of alarms in his mind.

“Sam?” Sam helps him drink some water through a straw then takes his time setting the paper cup aside. “Sam!”

Sam sighs and looks back at him. “You were shot in the head,” he says, which explains why the headache is not letting up. “Then you fell off a building, broke a couple of ribs, one of them nicked a lung, but that’s been taken care of, don’t worry…” His voice trails off, but it’s clear he’s not done.

“And…” Steve prompts.

“When you hit the ground… it shattered your spine.”

“I don’t understand,” Steve mutters. “I’ve fallen from places a lot higher than that.” He remembers now. He was on the rooftop of a two story building. The fall shouldn’t have caused this much damage.

“Yeah, but you’re usually aware enough to break your falls.” Sam shakes his head. “Steve, anyone else had taken that hit, they’d be dead!”

“How–how long have I been out?” The serum should have completely healed him by now, shouldn’t it? Sam gives him an odd look and Steve realizes he must have spoken out loud.

“It’s been a week, Steve,” Sam says carefully.

Steve swallows hard. Seven days have passed since he got hurt, and his body hasn’t bounced back yet. He didn’t spend this long in the hospital when he fell off the helicarrier, and Steve had three bullets in him then.

“Can I still walk?” All this time he’s been hallucinating Bucky and he never stopped to notice how strange his legs feel. They’re heavy and, when he tries to wiggle his toes again, pain still sparks all the way to his hip bones. 

Sam bites his lip avoiding Steve’s gaze. Steve feels dread crawl up his insides as he waits for an answer. “Your spine was starting to heal the wrong way, the doctors had to break it again, to reset some of the bones. They said they never had to do that before, so no one really knows what will happen, but they think that with your metabolism you’ll be okay.” Steve blinks at him not knowing how to take this. “You  _ will _ ,” Sam tries to reassure him. “Look, I’m gonna get your doctor, she’ll explain better than me.”

Steve nods, slowly, still digesting Sam’s words as he stares down at his legs. He is so lost in thought that he only realizes Sam hasn’t moved from his spot when he calls Steve’s name.

He looks up to find Sam’s eyes glimmering back at him. Steve opens his arms and Sam rushes to envelop him in a careful hug.

“Man, don’t you ever scare me like that,” he says with a sniff over Steve’s shoulders, before letting go and straightening up.

“Sorry.”

“Yeah, you better be.” Steve frowns at him and Sam narrows his eyes right back. 

“The guy who shot you was barely a few feet away. He might as well have been coming at you in slow motion, and you just stood there like you didn’t even see him.”

Steve gulps. He didn’t. He was too lost in his own head to really pay attention to his surroundings. He exhales tiredly, slowly raising his arms to run his hands over his face. 

“Steve,” Sam says carefully. “Are you alright?”

Steve uncovers his face. He knows Sam doesn’t mean physically and Steve is so used to deflecting this kind of question he goes on autopilot. 

“Headache is kind of a bitch, you know?”

Against all his expectations, however, Sam doesn’t blink an eye. “Yeah, they’re real motherfuckers, aren’t they?” He deadpans. Steve gapes at him. 

Sam snorts. “How many times did you think that would work exactly?” He crosses his arms, giving Steve a slightly hurt look. “I don’t see you as just Captain America, Steve. For fuck’s sake, we’re friends, aren’t we?”

“Of course,” Steve agrees without missing a beat. “I’m sorry, Sam.” He shakes his head and offers Sam a small grin. “It was kind of shitty of me?”

This time Sam does let out a chuckle. He uncrosses his arms and heads to the door. “It was. And don’t you think this is the end of this conversation.” He opens the door. “I’m gonna get your doc.”

“Thank fuck for you, Sam,” Steve mutters quietly, with a sad smile, which, fortunately, Sam can't see.

Sam halts. Then he snorts out a laugh and shakes his head as he leaves.

\---

Sam comes back shortly with a young South Korean woman who introduces herself as Doctor Helen Cho. She checks his vitals and asks him how he’s feeling, which Steve answers truthfully, for once not trying to play off his injuries. He tells her about the headache and how it hurts when he moves his legs and she listens to him patiently before explaining what happened to him and what she and her team did.

“You’ve sustained very serious injuries, Steve,” Dr. Cho says, dropping his title at Steve’s insistence. “The serum has already done a lot. It  _ saved _ your life here.” Steve can hear the  _ but _ in her voice even before she says it. “However,” she goes on after a brief pause. “Its level in your blood seems much lower than what I’d expected it to be, compared to your previous blood work. Now, I’ve never treated anyone like you before, and I have no other frame of reference besides your own medical chart, so I’m going to need some time to figure out what’s happening to you. But you should’ve been much closer to being completely healed by now, based on your history.” Steve nods, mechanically, to show that he’s following. 

“So, he doesn’t have the serum anymore?” Sam asks, and bless him because Steve would never have the guts to put the words out, even as fear claws at his insides.

“Not so much of it right now, no,” Dr. Cho answers, looking between the two of them and then settling on Steve. “I’m not sure what’s happening exactly.” She hesitates for a moment, opening and closing her mouth before finally deciding to voice whatever’s on her mind. “This is just me working on assumptions here, but my theory is that you might have, uh, used up a big part of the serum in your system.” She sounds uncomfortable, like she doesn’t quite believe her own words and Steve’s stomach churns. “Again this is just a theory. I’m going to need to run some tests before I can offer you something more concrete.” She stops for a second, probably waiting for Steve to say something.

“Okay,” he mutters quietly. It seems to satisfy her.

“I do believe you’ll be able to make a full recovery,” Dr. Cho tells him, a lot more confident this time. “It might just take some time.”

She falls silent after that, giving him the floor again. 

“Thank you, Doctor. Uh, when do you think I can go home?”

“I’m afraid you’ll have to stay here for some time, Steve. Like I told you, your spine is healing at a much slower rate than you’re used to, so we’re going to avoid putting any kind of unnecessary strain on it.”

“Okay,” Steve accepts meekly. Sam gives him a concerned look, but Steve ignores it.

“There are still some tests we need to do,” Dr. Cho goes on, “But I’m hoping we can start physiotherapy at the end of next week.”

Steve simply nods, not really paying attention anymore. Despite his line of work, he’d honestly thought he was done with hospitals. And it’s such a stupid thing, the doctor just told him he  _ will _ be alright, still, he suddenly finds himself fighting back tears. He tries to blink them away as he stares at the ceiling and he almost misses the moment Doctor Cho excuses herself, shooting her another quiet thank you as she leaves.

Sam keeps looking at him and Steve, in a futile attempt to escape the impending conversation, shuts his eyes.

“Steve.”

“Please,” Steve begs, “don’t.” He knows Sam wants him to open up, but Steve feels like he’s cracking at the seams and if he opens his mouth now, he will shatter, he’s sure of it.

“Oh, no,” Nat says, and Steve opens his eyes to find her standing next to Sam with a matching expression. “We’ve let this go on for too long and it almost killed you. We’re doing this now.”


	11. If you want him to stay…

“I know you heard us,” Nat says. Steve has no idea what she’s talking about. He glances at Sam for a clue and finds him equally at a loss.

“Us?” 

“James and I,” Nat explains.

Realization dawns on Sam’s face at the same time something warm settles in Steve. It wasn’t a dream. Bucky was here. Despite knowing better, Steve’s eyes still wander the room, as if, like an optical illusion, Bucky would materialize before him if only he turned his head the right way. 

Of course, it doesn’t work. Bucky must be long gone by now. 

The only thing he finds is that his headache is still very much there.

“That’s why you insisted on spending the nights here,” Sam says to Nat, “you were covering for him.” Then he turns to Steve, excited. “Oh, wow. This is huge.”

“Even bigger,” Nat deadpans with a raised eyebrow. Sam throws confused glances between the two of them, but it seems like Natasha’s done with her part of this conversation.

Steve sighs. He feels like a child getting caught doing what they shouldn’t.

“He’s been coming to see me,” he confesses. “At home. Since DC.”

“Are you serious right now, man? What the fuck?” Sam’s surprised anger is short lived and he stops pacing as soon as he starts, heaving a breath. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

Steve gives him as much of a shrug as he can muster lying down. “I guess—I just wanted to have this to myself for as long as I could.” He shakes his head. “It was selfish.”

“No, it wasn’t,” Nat intervenes. “We just wanted you to share it with us because something about this is clearly making you miserable.” Then, softer, she adds, “You don’t have to go through it alone.”

A sob suddenly finds its way out of his chest, and Steve feels so drained then, that he no longer has the energy to keep it all inside. He doesn’t even care that he’s basically bawling his eyes out in front of his friends. Steve knows they wouldn’t judge him because of it, and besides, that’s exactly what they wanted from him, to let it out.

“I love him,” he confesses quietly. Absently, he wonders how something so huge can fit into just three little words. They carry the weight of a lifetime of longing, of aborted touches, of biting his tongue hard enough to taste blood, just so he wouldn’t accidently let the truth spill from his lips in a moment of weakness. Steve’s kept it all to himself for so long, that saying it now feels unreal. And yet, it’s the root of the turmoil inside of him, so he figures that would be a good place to start. To his surprise, though, his revelation is met with a chuckle from Sam.

“Yeah, we kinda put that together a while back,” Sam tells him. “I mean, you do go all heart eyes emoji every time you talk about him.”

Steve scoff, running a finger under each eye even though it’s an exercise in futility at this point. “I do not,” he protests, looking at Natasha for an ally, and finding none when her face breaks into a knowing smirk.

“You really do,” she confirms.

Steve huffs. “You guys are terrible,” he complains, though there’s no heat in it. Then he sniffles, and turns his head to see if a different position might ease his headache. It doesn’t. “I thought I was hallucinating him.”

“Here in the hospital?” Nat asks.

“Sometimes at home too,” Steve confesses. “He always leaves.” A sigh. “I know it’s not fair, I know he must be going through so much right now, but he remembers, he remembers a lot, and he still… every time I turn around, or fall asleep, he just… he _disappears_ ,” his voice breaks and then Steve’s just crying. 

Nat and Sam wordlessly take one of his hands each, and do their best to hold him as he falls apart. Through a messy narrative that’s probably incoherent at some points, Steve opens his heart to them. He tells them how he fell in love with Bucky when they were kids, how it damn near broke him when he thought Bucky had died, twice, and how it keeps chipping away at him now every time Bucky leaves.

When he’s done talking Steve feels exhausted. The ache in his head has graduated to a pounding pain and he’s having a hard time keeping his eyes open. Sam gives him some water and Nat soothes him by running a hand through his hair. They were both quiet as he spoke so now Steve’s curious to hear what they think. “So,” he mumbles, closing his eyes.

“That’s… you really shouldn’t have kept all that bottled up,” Sam tells him. “I mean, I get not doing anything during the forties, but you know how the world works now, you could’ve said something.”

“I know,” Steve agrees. But he’s beyond elaborating on it right now.

Natasha squeezes his hand. “Well, we’re glad you told us,” she says and Sam hums in agreement, which reminds Steve of something and he snorts.

“I came out to Tony,” he tells them.

“Man, you really don’t like to make things easy for yourself, do you?” Sam accuses, but Steve can hear the amusement in his tone.

“I thought it would help him understand.”

“Did it?” Sam asks.

“I dunno.”

“On that note,” Nat says, “you should probably get some rest now.”

“Why’s that?” Steve blinks an eye open and finds her checking her phone.

“Tony’s coming to see you.”

“Fuck,” Steve groans. Sam chuckles and Steve opens his other eye to properly glare at him.

Sam shrugs. “What can I say, it’s still kinda funny.” He sobers up after a moment and gives Steve a more serious look. “For real though, that’s a lot to keep inside for such a long time, and we’re not even talking about literally all the other stuff you’ve gone through.”

“You think I should see a therapist,” Steve guesses. Sam nods.

“You can’t burn yourself to keep him warm, Steve. It’s not fair to either one of you.”

“I’ll–I’ll think about it.” It’s the best that he can promise now, but Sam seems content with it.

“Speaking of unfairness...” Nat starts. Steve turns to look at her through narrowed eyes. His head is really killing him right now and the bright lights above him are definitely not helping. “James is many things, but I’m pretty sure a mind reader isn’t one of them. If you want him to stay, you have to say something.”

“You think he might?” Steve asks quietly, almost afraid of her answer.

“You’ll only know if you ask.”

\---

Steve ends up sleeping for the rest of the day. If Bucky comes back that night he doesn't see it, but somehow Steve doubts it because, when he opens his eyes again, Tony’s already there.

He’s engrossed in something on his phone and it takes him a while to notice Steve staring at him. "Oh," he lets out when he looks up and his eyes meet Steve's. "You're up." And Steve can't help it, he raises an eyebrow. Tony rolls his eyes. "I mean, not _up_ , obviously. You're awake."

"I guess," Steve grins in response. But it soon slips off his face and he clears his throat, giving Tony a more serious look. "I'm sorry again Tony. I never meant to hurt you, I hope you know that."

"The things we do for love," Tony says. It sounds like he’s quoting someone but Steve can't be sure.

"Sorry?"

Tony shakes his head. "Never mind. It doesn't really apply here anyway. Listen, I get it now." Steve blinks at him, surprised. Tony shuffles on his feet. "I’ve read some of those files you gave Pepper," he explains, looking genuinely distraught. “I had no idea what they did to him, that it was that bad.” 

Steve nods. It’s the only thing he can do really. He’s still feeling raw and exposed by his talk with Nat and Sam, and he doesn’t think he’s ready to let it all out again. Thankfully, Tony seems to understand, and he doesn’t wait for an answer. He smooths down his goatee and shakes his head.

“Three months,” he says quietly. “I was a POW for three months and, _god,_ did I think I wasn’t gonna make it.” He starts pacing back and forth in front of Steve’s bed. “Plus the nightmares, and the panic attacks. Man, let me tell you, PTSD is _not_ fun.” Tony halts and turns to narrow his eyes at Steve. “But you know that already.”

“I’ve been talking to Buck,” Steve confesses. “But he hasn’t really said anything about it.”

Tony shakes his head. “What? No, I’m not talking about Manchurian Candidate. I mean _you_ , Cap.”

“I don’t have–” Steve starts to deny automatically. Then he thinks about it and sighs. “I do, don’t I?”

“Well, that’s kinda given,” Tony says, like it’s obvious, which, Steve belatedly concludes, it probably is. Be that as it may, Tony apparently feels the need to point out the reasons for Steve’s PTSD, in case they aren’t clear to him. “You’ve been through a war, _the_ War, watched the love of your life plummet to his, well, what you thought was his death, then you crashed a plane into the ocean, woke up seventy years in the future, everyone and everything you knew was gone.” He stops to breathe. Steve can only gape at him, but of course, Tony isn’t done. “Then you fought literal fucking aliens, discovered that the organization you’ve been working for has been infiltrated by the very people you’ve killed yourself to defeat. Also, your dead boyfriend tried to kill you. I mean, how you’re not reduced to a sobbing mess right now is beyond me.”

Steve snorts. “Should’ve seen me yesterday.”

Tony shoots him a sympathetic smile. “Life hasn’t given you a lot of breaks, huh?”

“I’m used to it,” Steve shrugs.

Tony studies him for a moment, like Steve is a bunch of puzzle pieces he’s trying to put together. He hums, then shakes his head. “Yeah, that’s not good enough, Cap,” he says at last, before doing the cross sign at him for some reason that’s beyond Steve. “There. You’re absolved. I forgive you, and all that.” Steve can only frown at him. “Dad said you’re a catholic, so I thought–” he trails off with a shrug but Steve finally gets it.

He smiles, ignoring the fact that his eyes are watering again. “Thank you, Tony.”

“Yeah,” Tony replies, looking down at his shoes scuffing the floor. 

It feels like a weight lifted off Steve’s shoulders, that they’re good now. Part of him still feels like he’s guilty of everything because he didn’t catch Bucky, but perhaps that has more to do with the shitty hand they were dealt than with Steve’s slight god complex. He’d also never put everything that happened to him into perspective like Tony just did, and it is, Steve supposes, a lot. And he’s finally starting to accept that maybe he doesn’t have to deal with all of it alone.

Both he and Tony pretend not to see the other wiping their eyes. 

When Tony clears his throat, Steve looks at him again.

“By the way, Natasha mentioned you asked about her contract,” he says. Steve nods, he’d almost forgotten about that with everything that happened. “Which first I thought: weird. But then I thought you might be worried about stuff like wage gaps, which wouldn’t be happening now anyway because I pay for everything so I would know, also, she would have me by the balls, but then it got me… I _don’t_ know. So then I did a little digging and guess what I found.” Again, Tony doesn’t leave him enough time to answer. “Everybody’s got a contract with SHIELD... except you.”

Steve sighs. Better rip off the bandaid now, since they’re already at it, so he bites the bullet and finally asks the question he’s been afraid of for so long.

“Am I government property?”

“Well,” Tony drawls. “This is the most fucked up thing ever, but, technically, you _were_. The US Army didn’t trust your German doctor friend, so they tried to patent his formula for the serum, but that little secret died with Dr. Erskine before anyone could get their greasy hands on it, so someone somehow found a loophole which allowed the army to get a patent for, uh, you, essentially.”

Steve can only blink at him.

“And well, since you were a soldier, and, no offense, but they probably thought you’d die at some point in battle, and the serum was inside of you… you get the picture. But lucky for us, the pharmaceutical industry is greedy as fuck, and so they don’t go high on their own self-importance there’s a pretty little law that says patents only last for ten years. So you’re basically public domain now.” Tony takes about half a second to breathe and then jumps right back in. Steve’s head is pounding. “Except SHIELD conveniently forgot that, I mean, in hindsight it probably had something to do with how it was infested with Hydra people, but either way, they were all walking around under the assumption that you belonged to them. It also did help that you never said no to a mission because of the gigantic chip you have on your shoulder. Anyway, it’s a fucked up situation,” he repeats, “any way you look at it. Honestly, do you even _want_ to do this for the rest of your life? How old are you anyway?”

“95,” Steve answers automatically. Tony rolls his eyes.

“No, asshole, I mean for real.”

“I’m—I was 26 when the plane went down.”

“ _Shit_ , you’re just a kid.” Steve’s not sure he agrees, but he doesn’t dispute him. Tony sighs. “My advice, which you’re welcome not to take, no hard feelings, but… get out. Get away from all of this. You can’t be in charge of taking care of the whole freaking world, Steve. For fuck’s sakes, your brain is probably not fully developed yet.”

Steve’s not sure if he should take offense at that, but he chooses not to. 

“I don’t know if I can do that, Tony.” He confesses. “How can I just ignore a situation when I know I could make a difference?”

“That’s arrogance talking, Steve,” Tony says, not unkindly. “And trust me, I have _a lot_ of experience with it.” 

“But–”

“Everybody can make a difference,” Tony interrupts him. “We all have something to give, but it doesn’t always have to be life or death.”

“What if I don’t know who I am outside of this?”

“Then you go find out,” Tony says like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Perhaps it is. “You have an entire life ahead of you to do that.” He hums to himself and shakes his head, amused at something. “Fuck, is this what a father figure feels like?” Then he shudders for good measure. “Argh, weird. But anyway, you’re benched now, so maybe you could take this time to figure yourself out.”

“You know what,” Steve says, heart pounding because he feels like he’s reached a decision even though he doesn’t really know what it is yet. “I might just do that.”


	12. Vulnerability is scary

Bucky doesn’t show up again.

Steve knows it for sure this time because he spends the whole night awake waiting for him. At some point at dawn, he finally falls asleep and, when he wakes up, Steve’s not even surprised to find that someone has been standing there for God knows how long.

This time his visitor is Clint, and they talk for some time, but it feels more like a courtesy call than a friend coming to see him, and Steve realizes he’s barely spent any time alone with Barton. It makes him a little sad. He likes Clint, so he vows to rectify the situation and he tells Clint they should go out for beers as soon as Steve is free to walk around again. The effect is instantaneous. Clint lights up like a Christmas tree and, in his excitement, ends up knocking over the water jug by Steve’s bed. 

Despite the involuntary shower he gets, Steve laughs like he hasn’t in a long time, and Clint, mortified, keeps trying to apologize to him, but every time he does it only serves to set Steve off again. It takes some time, but he takes pity on Clint eventually, then cracks up yet again when he tells the story to Nat and Sam.

All in all, Steve has some good moments during his stay in the hospital, but he also has a few really, really bad ones. There are days in which his headaches are so strong that bile rises up his throat and the nurses or whoever is near, have to turn him to the side so he doesn’t choke on his vomit. To make matters worse, his right leg seems to be getting better faster than the left one. When he starts physiotherapy, he finds that he can do pretty much all of the exercises with the right, but the left goes stiff sometimes when he tries to bend his knee and it still sends a wave of shock to the base of his spine.

Doctor Cho hasn’t said anything to him yet, but Steve feels like something isn’t working as it should, though so far he’s been too afraid to ask what. Be that as it may, the fact that he’s still being dragged around the hospital in a wheelchair is starting to make him anxious.

The fact that Bucky has been off the grid for the past week doesn't help either. 

Steve doesn't wait for him all night long anymore, but he’s worried. All of his texts so far have gone unanswered, and to know that he can't even go look for him is making Steve's skin crawl. Which is not something he wants to share with a therapist, but here he is anyway.

Doctor Sanches specializes in trauma. She came highly recommended by Tony's own shrink, and she has years of experience in her field. And yet, Steve hasn't been able to say a single word to her apart from the usual greeting when she arrives. So far, both of their sessions have gone like that. She doesn’t put any pressure on him to talk, though, and it makes Steve wonder if it doesn't frustrate her. Perhaps he’s feeling enough of that for both of them. 

By his third week in the hospital, Steve’s headaches have finally become less frequent and, most of the time, less unbearable too. But he’s starting to suspect that they’re here to stay. Nevertheless, he’s making  _ some _ progress. He’s graduated to a sitting position on the bed and he can walk to the restroom on his own if he uses the wall as support. Steve’s right leg is as good as new now, but the left hasn’t been that fortunate, though the spikes of pain have subsided. And while he’s still basically in square one with Doctor Sanches, Helen Cho has finally decided to come clean with him.

She manages to find Steve on one of the rare occasions when he’s alone. Although Bucky hasn’t come back yet, the rest of his friends seldom leave his room, but Sam had to oversee his move now that he’s officially living in the Tower and the others are off doing their own things. So Steve is idly sketching Nat sleeping in the armchair in the corner of his room when Doctor Cho knocks on his open door.

He looks up.

“Hey, Doc.” She gives him a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. Steve frowns. “What’s going on?”

“Hi, Steve,” she says as she enters. “How are you feeling today?”

“Alright,” Steve shrugs. “No headache so far. Is everything okay?”

“Steve, as you know, I’ve been monitoring the serum in your blood over the last few weeks.” One of the things Steve likes the most about Cho is how direct she is. The downside is that it doesn’t give him a lot of time to brace for her news. He chews on the inside of his cheek, glad that he’s not hooked up to the monitors anymore, so she can’t see his heart rate spiking. “And, by now, I can see a very clear trend there.”

“It’s decreasing,” he guesses, his voice small. Dr. Cho nods.

“I’m afraid so.” She takes a seat on the chair next to his bed. It’s a nice touch, Steve thinks. This way she’s not towering over him when she says, “The serum is leaving your system.”

Steve feels like she’s just dropped a bucket of ice cold water on his head. He has to focus hard to keep hearing her over the sudden loud buzzing in his year.

“I think it has been for a while,” she goes on, “but not in any way that was noticeable.” Her words make him think back to his time in the hospital after the helicarrier. He wasn’t there long, compared to someone not enhanced, but the pain followed him for a while after he came home. Steve hadn’t paid it any mind, however, because he’d been too busy. Then one day the pain was gone and he promptly forgot about it. The same thing happened when the Hydra agent cracked his ribs on their last raid, the healing had been slower than usual, but again, Steve ignored it. “It's a miracle it stayed functional this long,” Doctor Cho is saying as he tunes back in. “Maybe the fact that you were frozen for over half a century helped prolong its presence in your body. It kept you alive while you were frozen, and, in turn, your freezing body kept it from a faster decay.”

Steve feels numb.

“But it's basically a drug,” she continues. “And drugs are metabolized by the body and their effects wear off unless more doses are administered. The vita rays managed to stabilize it for a while, but even then, it couldn't have been expected to last forever.”

_ Maybe it wasn’t _ , he thinks.

“I don't know what Dr. Erskine was planning to do about it; he kept all his cards close to his chest. Perhaps he thought his formula was perfect, but I think it's more likely that he would've planned to give you further doses after he figured out the rate of elimination of the serum from your body. Unfortunately, his formula died with him, so we can't make more of it.

“This doesn't mean we should underestimate its value. It's already saved your life, Steve, even now with so little of it left. Injuries like yours should have left you dead or permanently immobile. The fact that you're alive right now and can move, even with a limp; the fact that you have no cognitive impairments after being shot in the head! That's a miracle. But I’m afraid the serum has done its job one final time. You’ll need to accept that you will no longer have superhuman healing and metabolism, at least not like you've gotten used to.”

Steve forces himself to nod to show that he’s listening, but he doesn’t have the energy to raise his head and look at her. Part of him wants to despair at Doctor Cho’s words, but mostly, he feels like this is the other shoe dropping at long last. A lifetime ago Bucky had asked him if the miraculous changes in his body were permanent, and Steve, not knowing any better, had said  _ so far _ .  _ Guess I was right _ , he thinks bitterly.

He stares at his legs as if they’ve betrayed him. He’s being dramatic, he knows. He’s lucky enough they didn’t break when he fell. Bucky lost an entire arm when  _ he  _ did. Steve just got a limp, apparently. He looks up at Cho. “Will I be able to walk?”

“Of course,” she says with a lot more certainty in her voice than she’s had so far. “With the proper cane you’ll be perfectly mobile. And with time and physiotherapy, you’ll probably be able to do short distances without it too. The headaches might also have a lasting effect, but I can prescribe you painkillers for them” She catches the look on his face before he can hide it and sighs. “You’re young and healthy, Captain Rogers. You get to live a normal life now.”

Steve nods, offering her a polite smile, which barely moves the corners of his mouth.

_ That’s the problem, Doc _ , he thinks. His life has been many things, but normal isn’t one of them. Steve has no idea what to do with that.

He watches as Doctor Cho stands up and turns to leave, but then dread claws at his insides, causing him to break in a cold sweat. Steve has to force his voice out to call her.

“Dr. Cho?” She turns back to him. Steve swallows hard before asking, “Do – does this mean I’ll..."  _ become small again _ , he wants to say but can't. He clears his throat. "Does this mean I’ll have asthma again?" He asks instead.

“No, I don't think so,” she assures him. “It seems there’s no reversing the physical changes you went through. Those are permanent as far as we can tell. Your lungs, your muscles, your strength are going nowhere.” The relief is so strong Steve feels like his bones have been replaced by jelly. He feels so drained by it he almost doesn’t catch Cho’s next words. “But any future injuries you sustain will affect you almost the same as the rest of us.”

“Oh,” Steve lets out, his thoughts instantly shifting to Bucky, and all those times he showed up at Steve’s door with some kind of injury or another. Steve wants to ask her if it’s the same for him, but he can’t. Doctor Cho doesn’t know about Bucky, let alone his version of the serum. Steve will just have to wait and ask him whenever he decides to come back.

He looks up to find Helen Cho still standing at the door.

“You’re going to be okay, Steve,” she tells him, before going away.

Steve is thankful she doesn’t wait around for an answer, because, right now, he’s having a hard time believing that.

\---

Later that day, he talks to the shrink. 

Well,  _ talk  _ may be a bit of a stretch. Steve more or less sobs his life story to Doctor Sanches’s patient ears. She simply listens to him, jotting down a few things here and there on her notepad. He tells her about Doctor Cho’s diagnosis and when she asks him how he feels about it, Steve’s honest. He thinks this has been a long time coming.

“Do you often feel like that?” She asks once he’s finally stopped crying. “Like good things come with an expiry date?”

“Well, they do.”

Doctor Sanches smiles, unfazed by his pessimism. 

“What about the bad ones? Are those forever?”

Steve thinks about it, but in the end, he has to shake his head. “No.”

“You’ve been on survivor mode for most of your life, Steve. Your brain has basically wired itself to look for the worst outcome of every situation, to brace for it, so it can protect you. Letting your guard down feels dangerous, I know, but it’s the only way we can find to really connect with others. It doesn’t matter how much we love them, or how much they love us, if we don’t open some doors in those walls we build around ourselves,” she shakes her head, “it’d be like locking ourselves in when the house is on fire. It’s only going to hurt us. And we might think that because we’re inside people can’t see that, but they can always smell the smoke.” 

Steve sniffs. His head is hurting, but it’s more from trying to process her words than the usual pain from the gunshot. Luckily, she doesn’t seem to be expecting him to say anything else. And before he knows it, she’s standing up. He glances at the clock on his bedside table and is surprised to see that their session ended twenty minutes ago.

When she’s at the door, she stops to look at him.

“Vulnerability is scary,” she says, shouldering her bag. “But trust is a muscle we have to work on.” She winks at him, playfully, her wrinkled face morphing into a smile which reminds him of Peggy. “See you soon, Steve.”

Steve manages to smile back. “Thank you.”

\---

“Good news, oh Captain, my Captain,” Tony says as he barges into Steve’s room a few days later. 

For once, Steve understands the reference. He grins at Tony. “Dead Poets Society.” He’s seen that one with Sam. 

“Ten points to Gryffindor.”

“Harry Potter.”

“Argh,” Tony scoffs. “You’re like a virgin with a four-day pass to Comic-Con, filled with pop culture knowledge.”

Steve frowns at him. “What does virginity have to do with it?” He doesn’t know what Comic-Con is but he’s not about to give Stark the satisfaction. 

Tony takes a moment to think about it. “Hum… nothing I guess, just some patriarchy bullshit. Anyway, we’re getting sidetracked here, Steve-o. I have good news!” He opens his arms for emphasis. “A little bird told me, and that’s neither Barton nor Wilson,” Steve rolls his eyes, “that you, mister, are being discharged.”

Steve closes the notebook he’d been using to polish off his statement about Bucky and sits up straight, ignoring the slight protest from his back. “When can I leave?”

“Soon, I think,” Tony says. “Cho, who’s going to be working for me now that I’m gonna open a hospital wing at the Tower, by the way, said she’d swing by once she’s done with the… less famous people she’s treating.” He sits on the foot of the bed, eyes falling on the notebook on Steve’s lap. He juts his chin at it. “Finished the speech?”

“I think so,” Steve says. He doesn’t want to make Tony uncomfortable so he doesn’t elaborate on it. But apparently, Tony wants to talk about Bucky.

“He hasn’t shown up, has he?” Steve shakes his head. He noticed some time ago that Tony doesn’t use Bucky’s name, even though he doesn’t sound angry anymore when he talks about him. Steve supposes that even knowing what Bucky’s been through, this is still hard for him, and he doesn’t blame Tony for needing some degree of separation so he can deal with it. He’s certainly been handling things a lot better than Steve had expected, all things considered. “If it’s any consolation, I don’t think he’s dead.”

It makes Steve chuckle for some reason. “No,” he agrees, “I don’t think he is either.” He shrugs, feigning indifference. “He’ll show up when he’s ready.” It’s killing him, not knowing, but the hospital has also kept Steve surprisingly busy these past few weeks, between all the therapy for his mind and body, the headaches that demand he takes something strong enough to knock him out a little, and sleeping like a hibernating bear, there hasn’t been much time left for Steve to brood. 

He’s also conveniently not found the time to tell his friends the serum has basically worn off and he’s going to be walking around with a cane for the rest of his life. And that he’s permanently decommissioned as Captain America, though Steve is definitely not as heartbroken about that as he thought he would be. It’s ironic actually. He’d spent all this time in a moral debate with himself on whether he had the right to quit, and now the decision has been made for him. 

He’s not naive enough to think that it won’t affect him the next time the Avengers assemble. But he’ll just have to cross that bridge when he comes to it. Steve can only hope that, by then, he’ll have grasped at least some of those concepts Doctor Sanches keeps telling him about.

“You okay, Steve?” 

Steve blinks himself back to the present. “Huh?”

“You spaced out,” Tony explains. 

“It’s what happens when you’re this old,” he deflects. 

Tony watches Steve for a moment, but thankfully, lets him off the hook. 

"Oh, by the way, you owe Pepper and the entire public relations department a vacation in the Caribbean or some other overly expensive island.” Steve frowns at him. “Apart from the huge, gigantic task of making your high school sweetheart  _ not _ look guilty, they’ve also spent the last few weeks trying to convince the world that you’re not dead.”

“What?”

“Yeah. And it’s surprisingly hard to do that. I mean, apparently, at one point somebody suggested a picture of you with the day’s paper. People are really worried about you, Steve.”

“They’re not,” Steve disputes. “They want gossip on Captain America.”

“Well, they need something. So, uh, I’m afraid this isn’t a social call, Cap. Pepper sent me to tell you you’re gonna need to do a press conference.”

“Good,” Steve says, enjoying the look of total surprise on Tony’s face. “I’m ready to make a statement.”


	13. It’s time to pull the plug

Steve’s finally discharged the day after Tony’s visit. Neither Cho nor Sanches let him off the hook though. Doctor Cho gives him the cane he’d been practicing with during physiotherapy and tells him he can probably do without it when he’s home, but he shouldn’t try walking long distances with no support for his left leg. She also hands him a bunch of painkillers for his headache, but advises him to go slow, because he’s apparently no longer immune to its effects, which means he could become addicted to the stuff. Great. 

Doctor Sanches gives him the address to her office and tells Steve they’re going to keep seeing each other once every two weeks. She praises Steve on the progress she says he’s making, and even though he hasn’t really seen much of a change in himself, he has to admit it felt nice hearing her say he’s doing well. 

Nat and Sam drive him home. He sits sideways in the backseat so he can extend his left leg, and does a good job of pretending he doesn’t see the look his friends exchange when they notice he’s taking the cane home with him. Steve has yet to tell them he’s probably going to need it for the rest of his life. 

Sam helps him climb the steps up to his apartment building, and Steve’s glad there aren’t many because the base of his spine protests every step his left leg takes. He’s immensely grateful to the fact that the building has an elevator.

Natasha offers to unlock the door, but then she just steps aside and leaves Steve to actually open it.

“Surprise!” Tony, Pepper, Bruce, and Clint all shout when he swings the door open.

It startles Steve enough that he staggers back. His left leg goes stiff and, if it weren’t for Sam standing behind him, he would’ve fallen on his ass in front of everybody. Steve shoots him a grateful look and Sam pats his shoulders after helping him find his footing. Again, Steve doesn’t miss the exchange of looks with Nat.

Thankfully, no one else seems to notice what happened and the three of them get inside. Once he’s finally home Steve breathes a sigh of relief. It feels like he’s been away forever. There’s a round of greetings and then he carefully lowers himself onto the couch and props his left leg up on the coffee table.

Clint brings out some beer from the kitchen; God knows where he got those, because Steve sure didn’t have any, and everybody settles around him.

“I did some shopping,” Sam announces, taking a seat next to him while Nat takes the armchair. Well, that explains things. Steve also suspects someone must have cleaned because the windows had been closed for weeks and yet the place doesn’t smell of dust.

“Thanks,” he says and then declines the beer Clint offers him, making a gesture that says  _ another time _ . It’s probably best not to mix alcohol with the pills he has to take now that it might have an effect on him again.

“No problem,” Sam replies absently before taking a swig of his own bottle.

“Are we just gonna ignore the elephant in the room,” Natasha asks, crossing her arms over her chest. She looks guarded, almost scared of something. Steve frowns and glances at Sam, but he looks equally lost, and so does everybody else. Thankfully, Nat doesn’t let the suspense hang over them for too long. “Why aren’t you healed already?”

“Oh,” is all Steve can muster. He didn’t think they’d be addressing this so soon.

“When James shot you,  _ three times _ , and punched your face in you didn’t spend  _ a week _ in the hospital. Now... it’s been a month, and you’re still not completely healed. What’s going on, Rogers?” Her voice goes small when she says his name, and he realizes that’s what she’s afraid of, finding out what happened to him.

“I’m alright, Nat,” Steve says, trying to put her at ease. It doesn’t work.

“No, you’re not,” she refutes. “You’re limping! Jesus, Steve, you could barely go up a couple of steps.”

“Well, I’m old.”

“I’m serious!”

Steve closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. When he opens them again, his friends are all looking at him with concern. He scrubs his face and sighs into his hands, letting them slowly fall back to his lap as he braces for what he has to say. “The serum is wearing off,” he reveals quietly. 

“What?” Tony exclaims.

“No way,” Clint says at the same time.

“How is that possible?” Sam asks bewildered. 

“The serum is basically like a drug,” Steve explains, trying to recall what Doctor Cho said to him. “Its effect wears off with time if I don’t get more doses of it. Dr. Cho thinks it has probably lasted this long because I was frozen.” Steve watches his hands. He needs to cut his nails. “She said my enhanced metabolism has probably been slowly coming back to normal over the years. I just didn’t notice.” He heaves another sigh, finally looking up at his friends. “Basically, I — I’m stuck like this, and so,”  _ time to face the music _ , he thinks, and then says slowly, “I can’t work with you guys. I can’t be Captain America anymore.”

Saying it out loud feels strange and liberating all at once.

“No,” Tony says getting up. “I’m gonna, I’m gonna find you someone else. Another doctor, a whole team of them.” He takes his phone and starts going through it, then he pauses and looks at Pepper. “We can do that, right?”

“Of course,” she agrees, throwing Steve a sympathetic look. 

“Tony, that’s alright,” Steve says. “I appreciate it, but… I trust Doctor Cho.”

“Yeah, she’s good. She’s great, she’s coming to work with us, actually.” Tony’s talking even faster than usual, running his hand through his hair and messing it up. Steve hates that he’s the cause of that. “But that doesn’t mean she knows everything. We can find another way. I can try to make the serum — ”

“Tony, we can’t do that,” Bruce says. And Steve is suddenly reminded of where the Hulk came from. “It’s too dangerous.”

Tony huffs, frustrated. “Well, there’s gotta be  _ something _ . We can’t just lose Cap.”

“You’re not losing me,” Steve tells him. “Weren’t you the one who told me to take a break? This is it.”

“Not like that,” Tony protests. “It should’ve been your choice.”

“I’m fine with this,” Steve tells him, realizing only as he speaks that he actually  _ is _ . 

“Are you, really?” This time it’s Sam who asks.

Steve nods. “I’m working on it. I don’t like that I’m gonna need a cane for the rest of my life,” he admits. “But I’m okay with letting Captain America go.” He goes quiet for a moment, and everybody waits for him to continue. “I would never have been able to do it if the decision was still in my hands. I would always feel like I wasn’t doing my part, like I was failing everyone; Doctor Erskine, and you guys.”

“We would never think that,” Nat tells him.

“I would,” Steve confesses.

She takes one of his hands in hers and leans forward to give him a peck on the cheek. “I love you. No stupid costume or cane is going to change that.”

Steve smiles at her, blinking hard against the sting in his eyes. “Love you, too.” He turns to the rest of the group but his voice seems to get trapped in his throat. 

Sam squeezes his thigh. “We know. We love you too.”

“Yeah,” the others agree.

Suddenly, they’re all over him in an awkward group hug and Steve has never felt more cherished in his life. He allows himself to cry a little on their shoulders, knowing none of them would think any less of him for it, and he feels at peace. The only thing tainting his joy is that Bucky isn’t here with them. But Steve can live with that for now. He is home and he is loved, and it makes him believe that he’s going to be alright.

\---

Once everyone has gone home and it’s just him and Sam, Steve asks him if he knows where the shield is, to which Sam replies that it’s probably with Tony at the Tower.

“Why?” Sam asks. “You’re gonna hang it on the wall or something?” Steve snorts. “Hey, you know what you should do? You should sell it on eBay.” And that gets a genuine laugh out of Steve, head thrown back and everything. It takes him a moment to get back on track.

“Actually,” he says when he sobers up a little, “I have other plans for it.”

“And what’s that?”

Steve takes a deep breath, turning his body a bit so he can better look at Sam. “Perhaps — perhaps Captain America doesn’t have to end with me.” Steve immediately starts chewing on his lower lip. He hopes the offer wasn’t too forward, or, God forbid, too subtle.

Sam just blinks at him for a couple of seconds. “Oh, well… I’m really flattered, Steve. Really…”

Steve sighs. “But…” he prompts.

“I can’t accept that, man. I’m sorry.”

“Sam, if this is some kind of loyalty thing,” Steve starts, but judging by Sam’s face he quickly realizes he’s on the wrong track so he shuts his mouth for a second and then tries again. “What is it?”

“It’s uh,” Sam says, looking more uncomfortable than Steve has ever seen him. “It’s just — listen, don’t get me wrong but — it’s the name.”

“Captain America?”

Sam nods, still looking like he would prefer to have his teeth pulled out rather than continue with this conversation. “Yeah, it’s just, uh, it’s a little…” He hesitates again and it suddenly dawns on Steve. He’s been doing some reading, he’s seen several think-pieces discussing how the concept of Captain America sounds these days. It’s not hard to put two and two together.

“Imperialistic?” 

Sam’s sigh tells him he’s hit the jackpot. “No offense,” Sam says at last “but, yeah. It really, really does.”

“Oh.”

“I mean,” Sam goes on, “I get how it probably made sense back then, but the way this country has behaved the past, well, several decades… I’d never feel comfortable wearing the flag again, especially not like that.” He shakes his head “Man, the stuff I saw in the army…” he tuts. “After you see the kind of things done by people wearing that flag? It kinda takes the shine off those stars and stripes.”

Steve’s only recently started to think about the uniform like that; how it might be perceived by other nations when he barges in, often causing a lot of property damage, sometimes leveling whole cities and calling it protection. In those people’s eyes, Steve must be nothing more than another glorified invader. Nevermind the things Sam’s talking about. Those Steve has honestly never stopped to consider. Abstractly, he knows his face is on posters, recruiting kids fresh out of high school, it wouldn’t be a stretch to imagine he’s also probably being used to condone this kind of despicable behavior.

He runs a hand over his face, chagrined.

“I’ve never thought about it like that,” he confesses, slightly horrified at himself. He looks back at Sam. “Does that make me an asshole?”

“Running several laps around me and throwing each one of them in my face makes you an asshole,” Sam tells him with a smirk. Then he softens. “Trying to do the right thing doesn’t. I know you, Steve. You have a good heart, everyone can see you’re the furthest thing from power hungry.” He shakes his head. “But the connotations that name carries… I think it’s time to let it die.”

“It was a show character,” Steve says after a moment.

“Huh?”

“Captain America,” he explains. “It was just the name of the character I played on the USO tours.” He grins at the memories. “You should’ve seen me then, I looked ridiculous.” Sam snorts out a laugh. “I wore tights.”

“I think I’ve seen some of that in the museum.”

Steve shakes his head. “It’s all black and white. It doesn’t do it justice.” They laugh again before Steve gets back on track. “When I found Bucky’s unit at the factory,” he doesn’t go into details, Sam knows the story, everybody does, “someone asked me who I was and I panicked and said literally the first thing that came to mind.” He hesitates then. “I never thought — ”

“Don’t beat yourself up over it, it’s fine. What’s done is done brother,” he pats Steve’s knee, “and you’re a good one, nobody doubts that, whatever name you call yourself.”

Steve nods. “But Captain America should die?”

“It’s time to pull the plug,” Sam agrees without missing a beat.

They both go quiet for a while, but Steve still has an itch to scratch. 

He raises an eyebrow at Sam.

“Have you been carrying that around since we met?”

Sam shoots him an expression of the utmost long-suffering, which is also fake as hell. “Some days I thought I wouldn’t make it.”

Steve throws a cushion in his face.

\--- 

“Have you given any thought as to what you might do with your life from now on?” Julia — they’ve dropped the formalities now — asks him on their next appointment, after Steve tells her about his decision to let the title of Captain America end with him.

He shrugs. “Not really.”

“That’s alright,” Julia reassures him. “Most people your age are still trying to figure themselves out.” Steve smiles. He likes that the doctor doesn’t treat him as someone who was born before her parents. “That’s the beauty of time, it allows us to.”

He hums in agreement, but can’t think of anything else to say, so he changes the subject.

“The press conference is tomorrow,” he announces. Steve had mentioned it once when he was still in the hospital, so she knows what he’s talking about.

“And how are you feeling about it?”

“Anxious,” he confesses, wringing his hands. “I wish I’d told Bucky about... everything before I sprang all of it on national television.” He shrugs. “Not that I’ll even know if he’s watching.”

“Don’t you think this might draw him out?”

Steve snorts. “To kick my teeth in, maybe.” He’s joking, but the doc still comes at him with her questions.

“Do you think he would react badly?”

And Steve doesn’t need time to think about that particular answer. “No. Even if he doesn’t feel the same… Bucky wouldn’t be mean about it, he’s not mean.”

“That’s good to hear,” Julia says encouragingly. “Have you prepared a speech?” Steve nods. “It really helps to have something to follow.” She crosses her legs, offers him a smile. “Want to rehearse?”

Steve smiles back, mischievous. “Sorry doc,” he says, “no spoilers.”

\---

The day has finally come, and Steve has barely slept a wink. 

Since he can no longer use running as a way to relieve stress, he makes do with the breathing exercises Julia taught him and an exchange of messages with Sam.

_ Ull do gr8. Didnt u start ur career doin shows _

_ Yeah but i used to wear a mask and a shield covering most of my face _

_ Id say then put on the cap costume, but frankly, now that weve talkd, burn that thing _

Steve replies with a row of laughing emojis

_ I mean it tho, _ Sam texts back a moment later, _ its gonna be alright, they might even come outta there likin ya boy as much as u do _

_ Impossible _

The ellipses bubble blinks on his screen for a few seconds before disappearing and then popping up again.

_ Look _ , the message comes when Sam finally makes up his mind on what to say,  _ i can’t promise hes gonna come runnin back to ya the moment he sees the conference… but i’ve a feeling things will work out after that _

Steve doesn’t want to jinx it by saying it out loud, or even typing it, but he’s kind of thinking the same thing.

He shoots Sam a quick  _ thanks _ , and before he knows it, it’s already acceptable for him to start preparing to go to the Tower.

Despite the amount of time he took getting ready — both because he was incredibly early and because he moves slower now — Steve still arrives with time to spare. Pepper’s people aren’t fazed though, and they just shuffle him around from room to room, because apparently, Steve’s ready isn’t  _ camera  _ ready, and some amount of makeup has to go onto his face to get him there. 

Then he’s left alone in a room with a suit and a note from Pepper wishing him luck. Steve gets dressed, forgoing the tie — he’s already anxious enough without something choking him — and finds that Pepper also left copies of everything her team’s prepared.

Steve reads them, then goes over his own statement one more time. He has to stop ever so often to wipe his sweaty hands. They do that now, when he’s nervous. Steve’s been discovering a bunch of little ways in which his body has changed. He tires easily, like he used to when he had asthma. And he can scar again. First time he caught his reflection in the mirror when he came home from the hospital, Steve was shocked to find a long line running down the middle of his back from the surgeries he’d had there. There’s also a lump under his hair from where the bullet exited his skull. Thankfully, the serum was able to take care of the entry wound on the side of his face. Steve hadn’t even realized at first, how close he’d been to losing an eye, or his sight.

He sighs. There’s no use dwelling on any of that now.

There’s a knock on the door and from the other side a voice says, “Five minutes, Captain.”

“Thank you,” Steve replies, looking at the door as if whoever’s outside could see him. As he turns back to the paper in his hand he catches sight of the cane propped against the wall. “Fuck,” he mutters.

He can’t walk into a room full of reporters using a cane to support himself. No one would hear a word he said until he explained it. He’ll have to make do without it. It’s not like Steve will be able to hide the limp, but there’s probably some plausible deniability for that if he stays seated for the rest of the conference.

His eyes skim over the documents one last time. He’s going to do this in two parts, Pepper instructed. First, Steve has to read files her PR team put together to make a case in Bucky’s favor. There’s nothing graphic; a couple of pictures of Bucky, but thankfully, no videos. Then, Steve gets to read what he wrote. Something ice cold drops to the bottom of his stomach when he thinks about it. While he doesn’t outright say that he’s in love with Bucky, the sentiment is very much there in every word he’s written. 

“I’m sorry, Buck.” 

Using the back of the chair he’s been sitting on as support, Steve heaves himself up. He straightens up, then slowly limps his way to the conference hall.

\---

A wave of silence washes over the room the moment Steve steps inside. He’s suddenly acutely aware that he’s lost a pound or two along with some muscle definition. It must all show through the well-fitting suit the PR people got him. He’s also sporting more beard than he’s ever had in his life, but he’s alright with that, he trimmed it just this morning, but it’s still full enough to work in his favor, making his face seem fuller. 

Steve takes a seat, glad that the table is only a few steps away from the door. It’s wide enough that he can extend his left leg in front of him and it doesn’t poke through the banners covering the other side. He wonders briefly if it’s Pepper’s doing and makes a note to thank her later either way.

There’s a microphone in front of him. Steve places the files beside it and leans back to clear his throat, then leans forward again to finally address the crowd of reporters.

“Hello,” he smiles awkwardly. “Uh, thank you for coming today, I’m, uh, I’m really glad to have you all here.” Some of the journalists nod and smile at him encouragingly, while others look kind of bored, but most of them seem like they’re biting their tongues to keep quiet. They’ve been explicitly instructed not to ask any questions until Steve opens the floor for them. 

He gulps. This is so much harder than if he had to fight for their attention. He clears his throat again, this time too close to the mic, and winces as the sound of it reverberates through the room. 

“I know you must be wondering why you were called here today, and no, it’s not just to prove to you all that I’m still alive.” He gets some feeble laughs for that, and counts it as a win. “I’m afraid it’s a little more complicated than that.” Steve licks his lips. “I’m actually here to ask you something.” He smiles, a little self-deprecating. “A lot of people think I still don’t have a good grasp on the future, but the more I learn, the more I realize how so much is still the same. This is to tell you that I know, very well, how public opinion works. Society tends to think as a collective, and it’s  _ you _ guys who steer the wheels on that. What you say goes, and you can destroy a person with your words… which means you also have the power to save them.”

Steve pauses to take a breath. It feels like he’s the only one doing that, breathing. Everyone else seems suspended in time, just waiting for him to go on. He glances down at the documents he’s supposed to read. Pepper’s are almost clinical, it’s basically a compilation of horrifying things that’ve been done to Bucky and what he was made to do in consequence. Steve’s is pure heart. 

It dawns on him that he can’t separate them, he can’t read one and then the other like he’s talking about two different things, desensitizing his audience with stories of torture and then trying to soothe them with tales of his childhood. 

He pushes the papers aside.

“You know my story. You probably had to do school papers on it, and I’m sorry for that.” 

Nobody laughs this time. 

Steve goes on. “So I’ll spare you that part, but if you know my story, then you know his too.” 

He nods at the guys sitting off stage to his left behind the curtains who’re handling the projector, and the white wall dissolves into a giant picture of Bucky, dressed to the nines in his uniform, hat tilting precariously to the right with a smile that could light up an entire room. It tugs at the strings of Steve’s heart, Bucky looks so young, so promising, and it makes everything that happened to him all the more unfair.

“His name is James Buchanan Barnes, and, as far as anyone knew, he died in 1945 when he fell off a train during a mission in the Swiss Alps. Well, he didn’t.” There’s a collective gasp, and murmurs spread like wildfire. Steve tries not to let it deter him. “There were many things that led me to enlist in the War,” and with that, he gains control of the room again, “one of them being that I didn’t want to let my best friend face it all alone. And neither did he. You see, amongst other reasons, I entered the war for Bucky... and he stayed in it for me.”

His eyes sting and he blinks against it. Steve can’t afford to break now.

“You see, Bucky could’ve gone home. He was tortured and experimented on by Hydra before I found him and the 107th in 1943. He could’ve gone home, but he stayed,” Steve says quietly. “He stayed and he fought alongside me and he fell, and I thought he was  _ dead. _ ” He has to clear his throat again. Under the table, he closes his hands into fists to stop their trembling. “But he wasn’t, and something much worse happened to him. He was captured by Hydra again.” 

His muscles are tight with tension and it’s making his back hurt and his head pound. Steve’s stomach is churning but he forces himself to nod at the projector guy again. Another gasp from the audience. He doesn’t look back this time, he knows what they’re seeing. It’s the bluish picture of Bucky in the cryotube, looking distressed even in his sleep.

“Bucky lost an arm when he fell,” Steve goes on, hoarse and feeling empty. “So Hydra fitted him with a metal one.” Judging by the whispering, it seems like some people have already made a connection. “Now this is where I need you to understand. He’s committed a lot of crimes, he killed people, it’s just a matter of time until you discover all of this, so before you start drawing conclusions and calling for his head, I need you to know the whole story.”

There’s another picture. A little more graphic. Pepper told him it would be a necessary evil, but she said she personally selected the one that would be last hurtful. Still, Steve doesn’t dare to even glance at it.

“He never,  _ ever _ , had any choice in the matter. When he was experimented on, they shot him up with their own version of the serum, and that saved his life when he fell, and it kept him alive as they froze and unfroze him for the next seven decades.” 

Steve summarizes what he knows, trying to use the words Pepper’s people used. They worked hard on building up this case; he doesn’t want them to feel like it was in vain. He can hear his own voice retelling all the things he wishes he could forget, about the beatings, the starvation, the memory wipes and the training. Steve knows he’s the one saying these things, but at the same time, he feels almost detached from it all, like he’s just another spectator, watching it from afar. 

He comes back to himself when he gets to the part about the helicarrier.

“He recognized me,” he realizes he’s saying, quietly, when he tunes back in. “I said something to him and he recognized me, and he saved my life.” Steve sniffs. “I know you think I’m biased because I’ve known him my whole life, but  _ please _ , believe me when I tell you, Bucky is not dangerous. He’s a prisoner of war, a victim who went through what no one in this room, including me, would’ve had the strength to survive, but he did. He’s coming back to himself, and I need you to allow him the chance to do that.”

Steve smiles, and the projector guy takes it as his cue to change whatever’s on the wall behind him to a still from the Smithsonian clip where Steve and Bucky are silently laughing at something off screen.

“Let me tell you something about the man  _ I  _ know.”  _ The man I love _ . He feels the corners of his mouth turning up of their own volition and there isn’t a damn thing he can do about it, so he just averts his eyes and hopes to God that he’s not blushing. “The man who loves to dance — ” Steve halts, hesitates for a moment. The smile slips off his face. He doesn’t know that anymore, does he? “The man who  _ loved  _ to dance,” he snorts, “who tried to teach me so many times even though I was a hopeless case.” Steve smiles at the memory. “He just had to take care of everyone, the Commandos, his family… me. Make no mistake, I would not be here today if it weren’t for him.” The words are more real than anyone in the room can possibly realize. “He’s saved me in more ways than you could ever know,” Steve mutters to himself, forgetting for a moment that he’s supposed to speak clearly and into the microphone. 

He’s suddenly flooded with memories. They play before his mind’s eye in sepia tones. His childhood, his teenage years, his early twenties. Bucky’s presence permeates each and every moment that shaped Steve into the man he is today. Even when he got the serum. Bucky might not have been physically there, but the thought of seeing him again, of being able to join him on the front lines, was what kept Steve going when he thought he’d succumb to the pain of the radiation.

The Smithsonian might have exaggerated some things about him, but one thing they got right: Steve and Bucky were inseparable. It had been that way from the very start. 

“We met when we were six years old, he saved me from losing a tooth at the hands of a school bully, and I gave him his nickname.” Steve shakes his head, lost in the memory. “It was a win-win in my books, but his mom hated me for it. To this day, she’s… she  _ was _ , one of the few people that still called him James. He got so used to being Bucky, that sometimes he wouldn’t even answer to his own name. It came in handy later too, you know, there were a lot of James’ in the army, our unit alone had three of them.

“So he stayed Bucky, and the day we fought on the bridge and he didn’t recognize that… it — it,”  _ damn near shattered me _ , “it was hard. I hope to God none of you ever have to see someone you care about stripped of everything that makes them who they are. I’ve yet to meet the man he is now, but I  _ know  _ who Bucky is at his core, and that is someone who’s caring, funny, and smart as a whip. Someone who’ll lend you a hand before you even think of asking, who’d never  _ choose  _ to hurt another person if there was any other option. 

“Buck was drafted, you see. And the day he got his orders and he found out he’d be a sniper,” Steve snorts, “just because he was a twenty-five-year-old kid with good fucking aim.” He catches the slip a moment too late and hopes somebody in the control room was fast enough to bleep him out. “He was shaking like a leaf when he told me. It made me feel so low; there I was, lying through my teeth to get in, while my best friend was struggling with the idea that he had to kill people. And he was scared, he tried not to show it, because he didn’t want me or his family to worry, but I knew all his tells.” It was the same way Bucky used to look at him when Steve was halfway dying from one thing or another. Only this time, Bucky thought he’d be the one not coming back. “I think — I think part of him knew he wouldn’t be coming home, not for a long time anyway.”

Steve feels drained by that realization. Bucky knew he wasn’t coming back. He knew and he tried to make their last night together special… and Steve bailed on him in favor of trying to lie his way into the War. He closes his eyes for just a moment, but he knows he can’t afford to cave yet, so he breathes in slowly and opens them again.

“You’re — you’re welcome to, uh, you can ask questions now.”

To his surprise, a few seconds go by before someone raises their hand.

“Captain,” says a woman from CNN, “just to clarify, are you saying that James Barnes is the Winter Soldier?”

“Yes,” Steve nods, letting out a relieved sigh. That one was easy.

“Have you been in contact with him?” Someone else asks from the back.

“We’ve met a few times since DC,” Steve explains. “But I have no idea where he is now.”

“And you don’t think he should be prosecuted for what he’s done?” The question comes from a middle aged guy, from Fox News, according to his badge.

Steve immediately shakes his head.

“Absolutely not. Bucky is as much a victim as everyone else Hydra has harmed.” He sits up straighter. “Don’t get me wrong, I know exactly how this looks, a man in a position of power defending his buddy. And I know you must be thinking  _ how dare he sit there and argue for sympathy after telling us what Barnes has done _ . But this is exactly the reason I asked you to be here. It’s harder to see Buck as a victim when he was the one behind the gun that made the others, but he  _ is _ . And it’s so much worse, because he’s the one who has to live with that, he has to wake up every day and face what they made him do, and I think that’s punishment enough for someone who didn’t even ask for any of this. So this is what I’m asking — this is what I’m  _ begging  _ of you. Don’t turn against him, he’s suffered enough, please,  _ please _ , leave him be.”

Steve suddenly realizes that he’s stopped shaking. He feels calm for the first time since he woke up today. He’s said what he came to say and he knows what he has to do now.

“If you have to blame someone, blame me. I’m the one who couldn’t reach him, who let him fall and didn’t look for him after. If you wanna hold someone responsible, and Hydra’s just too broad to satisfy you with a single villain in your story, then you can pin it on me.” He studies the room. It seems like he’s stunned them into silence again. Then Steve gets an idea that might save him from his friends’ protective wrath and his shrink’s disappointment; he’ll give up something he’s already lost. “Actually,” he says, pressing his palms on the table to help him get to his feet, “I’ll do that myself.”

Steve holds the back of the chair as support and makes his way around the table. There’s no hiding his limp now. He fishes the microphone from behind him and turns to the puzzled reporters in front of him. 

“Captain America hasn’t done shit, excuse my French,” he adds, unapologetic. “He didn’t stop Hydra, he couldn’t even save his best friend.” Steve opens his arms. “And, as you can see, now I’m permanently off the game.” He sighs. “Now I have a bad leg and a headache that’s been killing me since I stepped through that door, but maybe… maybe I’ll be more useful like this than I ever was throwing punches.” Steve smiles sadly at the confused faces before him. “I hope you will accept this,” he says, “in exchange for letting James Barnes be... I’ll give you Captain America. I quit.”


	14. Can I come in?

The room erupts with questions. Too many for Steve to understand and not even Pepper’s highly trained PR team manages to get the reporters to sit back down and take turns. 

Steve’s heart rate picks up again.

He’s not exactly proud of it, but he drops the microphone back on the table, turns around, and flees as fast as he can with his bad leg. His phone’s blowing up with notifications while he makes his way out of the Tower, but Steve ignores them until he manages to get to the car Pepper had waiting for him. Once he’s inside, curiosity gets the best of him, and unlocks his phone to find that the most recent text is from an unsaved number.

_how are you?_

Bucky. Steve’s sure of it, but he has no idea how to even begin to answer without breaking down in the back of the car. So despite the lump in his throat, he shuts off the screen and puts the phone back in his pocket.

When he gets home he checks it again and there’re even more texts and voicemails he’s not going to deal with now. Steve scrolls through them anyway, on his way to the bedroom. There are three calls from Sam, and those he knows, he can’t ignore because then Sam would just show up and Steve can’t do that right now.

_Just got home. Headache is killing me, gonna take a nap_

Steve hits send and hopes that’s enough to satisfy Sam for now. Then he takes a couple of pills he’s been prescribed and plops down on the bed, exhaustion creeping up his bones as he falls into a restless sleep.

\---

He’s not sure what wakes him first, the incessant knocking on the front door or his phone trying to vibrate its way off the nightstand. Steve saves it from its immediate demise and accepts the call without even checking the caller’s ID, because his eyes are still mostly closed at this point. 

“ _Open the door_ ,” Bucky says over the phone. Steve’s brain feels like cotton and it takes him a moment to register the words.

“You outside?” he mutters, groaning as he stretches out his tired limbs and sits up. “What time is it?” he asks, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, or at least trying to.

“ _Yes,_ ” Bucky answers impatiently. “ _Almost midnight. Please, open the door._ ”

“Alright,” Steve agrees. “Give me a sec,” he asks, then hangs up.

‘A sec’ is more like five minutes as he locates the cane, splashes some water on his face, and uses the bathroom. It all serves to wake him up properly, and Steve stares at his reflection in the mirror while he washes his hands. He still looks like shit turned over, but at least the headache is gone for now and he can think clearly. Too clearly. He kind of hates that.

“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath, and makes his wobbly way to the living room, leaving the cane behind.

Steve opens the door to find Bucky on the other side, biting his lip and looking like someone’s kicked his puppy. He watches Steve from under his lashes and stops chewing on his lower lip for long enough to ask:

“Can I come in?”

Going against every instinct he has, Steve keeps his feet planted where they are, his body fully blocking the door.

“Not if you’re not gonna stay.” 

Bucky frowns at him, shaking his head in confusion. “You want me to live with you?” 

“If you want,” Steve agrees with a shrug. “You’re welcome to. But that’s not what I’m talking about.” He takes a deep breath, steeling himself. It’s a day of letting things out for him and here’s another one. “I can’t keep watching you go, Buck. You keep—you keep leaving my life, and I know, I _know_ some of it was not your fault, but every time I turn around and you’re not there… I swear to God, Buck, it’s like you’re slicing me open.”

“Steve, you never… you never said anything.”

“I know,” Steve confirms. “I know, and that’s on me. But the truth is—the truth is I love you, Bucky. I’ve loved you my whole life, and I’ve been in love with you for just as long, and I can’t, _God_ , I _can’t_ live a life of waiting to see if you’ll stick around. That’s why I’m telling you this, because I know it wouldn’t be fair to demand something from you when you don’t even know what I want.”

“What _do_ you want, Steve?” Bucky asks softly. He looks pained, and Steve imagines it must be because he’s gearing up to turn Steve down as gently as possible, especially after everything Steve spilled out about them on TV. But Steve’s not a coward and he’s already in way too deep to go back now, so he lets himself sink even further down.

“You,” he answers simply “In my life. Whatever way you wanna be in it.”

“Steve, I—” Bucky hesitates, shifting from foot to foot and looking around before turning back to Steve. “Please, can we not do this in the hallway.”

Part of Steve just wants to be stubborn and wait here until he gets an answer, but his left leg’s already complaining about all the weight he’s putting on it, and this is really not a conversation he wants a wandering neighbor to overhear. He huffs a sigh and steps aside to let Bucky in.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Bucky says while Steve closes the door behind them.

“What,” Steve replies, limping his way to the couch, “tell you how I feel? Don’t worry, Buck. You’re under no obligations here.” It hurts, trying to sound casual about it when the thought of losing Bucky again makes his heart ache. He takes a seat and puts his left leg up on the coffee table. The sniff draws his attention back to Bucky, and Steve’s surprised to see that he’s close to tears. He backtracks so fast it could give someone whiplash. “Buck? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to snap.” He’s about to stand up but Bucky puts his hands out to stop him.

“No, don’t. Stay there.” Steve drops back on the cushions. Bucky sits down on the other end of the sofa. “All my life,” he starts quietly, staring out at nothing, “I never thought I could have this.” He chuckles wetly, shaking his head. “You were always larger than life, Steve, even when you were little.” Steve doesn’t know where Bucky’s going with this, but he has no idea what to say so he keeps his mouth shut for once. “You were meant for greatness, great life, great adventures… great love. I never thought I could be enough for you.”

Steve blinks at him. He can’t possibly be hearing that right. “Buck? What’re you saying?”

Bucky runs the back of his flesh hand under his nose, sniffing, and finally turns his red-rimmed eyes to Steve. He huffs out a humorless laugh. “I’m telling you I’ve always loved you right back.” He shrugs, looking like he doesn’t know what to do with himself now, like, after keeping this secret for so long, he doesn’t know what happens after he finally let it out and it scares him.

Steve gets the irrational urge to pinch himself, just to make sure he’s really awake.

He gapes for about a second, before clamping his mouth shut. Of all the things he thought he’d feel if he ever heard those words coming from Bucky’s mouth, anger was not one of them. “And you never said anything?”

Bucky snorts. “Did you?”

“I thought you were straight!”

“So did I,” Bucky says with a shrug. But Steve still knows him way too well, and he can tell when Bucky’s lying.

“Bullshit.” Steve stares at him until he caves.

“You were already getting beaten up for every other reason in the book, Steve. You didn’t need that.”

The realization leaves Steve reeling. He rubs his hands over his face. Perhaps he’s still asleep, caught up in a nightmare. That would explain why he feels like the world’s crumbling down around him. “You knew,” he says, voice muffled by his hands, but it’s not like Bucky can’t hear him. “You _asshole_ , you knew!” He slowly uncovers his face so he can properly glower at Bucky. “You knew how I felt about you, and you let us both fucking suffer—”

“Instead of getting us killed, yeah,” Bucky cuts in just as angry. 

“I didn’t ask for your protection,” Steve practically snarls through gritted teeth. “You had no right to take that choice away from me.”

“You wanna talk about choice?” Bucky scoffs. “Really? After what you did today?”

Steve crosses his arms, turning his body so he’s staring at the television ahead of him instead of Bucky by his side. He’s aware that he looks like a petulant child, but he couldn’t care less. “I don’t regret it.”

“Of course you don’t,” Bucky rebukes, mirroring his stance. “It was ten kinds of stupid. You’re probably proud of it.”

“I am,” Steve shoots back. From the corner of his eye, he catches Bucky shaking his head. He sighs. They’re getting nowhere with this, and Steve’s so tired. “I cussed on national television.”

“Twice,” Bucky adds, and it makes Steve smile, in spite of everything. They grow quiet for a moment, all of the fight leaving them in waves. Bucky shuffles a bit on the sofa, until he’s sitting sideways, with one leg tucked under him. “Steve?” he calls quietly. Steve uncrosses his arms and turns to look at him. “Thank you.”

“That’s alright, Buck. You don’t have to thank me.”

“No, I do,” Bucky insists. “You offered yourself as their scapegoat.” He shakes his head. “I don’t approve, and I still think you shouldn’t have done it, but… thank you.”

“We don’t even know if it worked,” Steve points out. He might’ve just made things a hell of a lot worse for Bucky.

“It did.” Steve frowns at him. Bucky explains. “I’ve been tracking what people are saying online, and,” he takes a deep breath, “I think you just turned me into the country’s newest sweetheart.”

Steve blinks at him slowly, processing his words. “What?”

“They ate it all up, what you said. Maybe it was because you were crying—”

“I wasn’t crying.”

“Sure,” Bucky agrees way too quickly. Steve rolls his eyes at him. 

Things have always been like this between the two of them. They can’t stay mad at each other for too long, because it eats at them both. He’s glad to see that hasn’t changed. Be that as it may, there are things he can’t ignore anymore just so they can pretend to be at peace with one another, so he asks:

“Do you still feel that way about me?” 

Bucky nods, and Steve takes in a shaky breath. 

“I love you so much, I had to force myself to stay away.”

Steve frowns. “Why?”

“You know why… if I wasn’t good enough for you then—” he shakes his head, looking miserable. Steve wants nothing more than to wipe the expression off his face. “Plus, I thought you were with Wilson.”

“Sam?” Steve lets out a surprised laugh. “No, I—Sam’s very nice, but, well, I have a one track mind.”

“What if we find out we’re not good for each other?” Bucky asks, hesitant, like he’s scared of the answer he might get.

“That’s not possible, Buck. We already know how we fit together.” He extends a hand, leaving it palm up on the couch between them, an invitation. Bucky glances at it and then back at him, worrying his bottom lip. Steve smiles at him, encouraging. “I told you. Any way you want, Buck.” It feels like he can’t keep Bucky’s name out of his mouth now that he’s here, now that it seems like he might stay.

It takes a heartbeat. 

Then two. 

And three. 

And then Bucky’s hand slowly reaches towards Steve’s until their palms touch and their fingers lock together. Bucky smiles at him shyly, looking at Steve from under his lashes. Steve beams. Bucky’s hand is warm against his, and it fits perfectly. Steve’s heart is soaring in his chest, and he feels a little bit high on it all. 

Bucky’s thumb rubs lightly over the back of his hand, and Steve gives his a squeeze.

“This is what I want,” Bucky tells him softly. “Your hand in mine for the rest of our lives if I’m ever that lucky. Steve, I—I watched you in the hospital, and the thought that I might lose you again, for good, hurt more than anything Hydra has ever done to me.”

“Buck,” Steve starts, but he has no follow up to that. Luckily, Bucky’s not done.

“I want to stay.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Bucky nods. Steve leans forward, wincing at the sudden pressure he accidentally puts on his left side. Bucky’s brow knits in distress. “I’m so sorry this happened to you.”

“I’m not,” Steve says. Bucky blinks at him in confusion. “If this hadn’t happened we might not be here right now. I’d never have found the courage to step down from the fight, until it finally killed me. This,” he huffs, “weirdly enough, this gives me another chance at life.”

Bucky leans over the rest of the way until he’s resting his forehead against Steve’s. He sighs.

“Believe it or not, I know exactly what you mean.” He chuckles, looking at Steve a little cross-eyed from how close they are together. “Look at us, my left arm, and now your left leg.”

“I know,” Steve says. “We almost make a whole person.” Bucky laughs, knocking their heads together a little, but Steve doesn’t care, because the sound of it washes over him like holy water, pure and cleansing. “I love you,” he repeats. Now that he’s said it once, he can’t stop.

Bucky doesn’t seem to mind though. He brushes his lips over Steve’s, there and gone so fast Steve doesn’t even have the time to close his eyes. “Love you too, Stevie.”

Steve studies him for a beat, then surges forward to capture Bucky’s mouth with his again.

\---

Kissing Bucky, as it turns out, is highly addictive. He’s slow and gentle in a way that’s both delicious and frustrating in equal measure. Like Steve is something delicate that has to be handled with care, even as he tries to learn every way their mouths can fit together. Steve can’t get enough of it. And while his left hand stays firmly locked around Bucky’s, he’s given the right free reign to run through Bucky’s hair and down his neck, making him shiver under his fingers.

Bucky’s metal hand is also mapping out Steve’s skull and it halts in its tracks when it brushes over the lumpy scar from the exit wound. Bucky’s breath hitches in his throat and he leans back. Reluctantly, Steve opens his eyes.

“You have a scar.”

“I do,” Steve agrees. Then he watches as Bucky’s face morphs into the trademark expression Steve knows only too well.

“Steve, how bad is this?” He licks his lips, panic seeping into his voice. “I mean, it’s gonna fade, right? You’re gonna get better.”

“Probably not,” Steve confesses, running his free hand up and down Bucky’s arm to try and soothe him, before he explains, “The serum’s effect is wearing off, Buck.” Steve summarizes Doctor Cho’s diagnosis. Bucky looks heartbroken when he finishes, and Steve raises their joined hands to plant a kiss on the back of Bucky’s. “It’s alright, I’m alright.”

Bucky drops his head on Steve's shoulder with a heavy sigh. “I’m sorry.” He raises his head a little to look at Steve, his free hand cupping Steve’s face. “Oh, Stevie, I’m so sorry. I thought it was just me.”

“What do you mean?”

“You know about Howard Stark, don’t you?” He asks quietly. Steve nods and instantly opens his mouth to say that it wasn’t Bucky’s fault, but Bucky speaks before he has the chance to. “He made more serum,” he reveals. “That’s why I was sent after him, to get it. Hydra wanted more soldiers like me, they _needed_ more because—because I wasn’t… functioning.”

Steve squeezes his hand. “Oh, Buck.”

Bucky shakes his head. “It’s fine,” he tries to assure Steve, but there’s nothing he can say to make Steve hate this any less. “Anyway, their plan didn’t work, with the other soldiers. Two of them were given the serum and died not long after. So, instead of wasting the last dose, they gave it to me… because mine wasn’t really working either. I thought it was because I got the shitty version. I never thought this would happen to you. I’m really sorry,” he repeats.

It’s Steve’s turn to reassure him, so he offers Bucky a small smile, because, even in this, they match. And there’s something about the fact that they’re going through this together, it quiets the turmoil inside Steve a bit. “I’m really okay, Buck. I’m even going to therapy now.”

“Whoa,” Bucky says, leaning back so they can look at each other. “You’re serious?”

Steve snorts. “I feel like I should be offended by how surprised you are.”

“Can you blame me?” He rubs his thumb over Steve’s beard and Steve instinctively leans into his touch. “Sugar, have you met yourself?”

“Fair enough,” Steve concedes, partially because Bucky just used a pet name on him and it made his brain go a little haywire. 

Then Bucky clears his throat, putting a little more distance between them as he straightens up, though he doesn’t let go of Steve’s hand. He doesn’t look at Steve’s eyes either. “Me too,” he mutters under his breath. Steve hums in question, frowning at him. “I’ve, uh, I’ve actually been going to therapy too,” Bucky confesses, finally meeting Steve’s eyes. Bucky offers him a small self-deprecating grin. “Bet you didn’t see that one coming.”

“Buck,” Steve breathes out, unable to completely hide his surprise. Because he didn’t. He didn’t see that one coming at all. But it just goes to show how, between the two of them, Bucky’s always been the more mature one. “How does that—I mean, how does that even work with the—”

“Pick your jaw off the floor, punk,” Bucky cuts him, rolling his eyes. “I know what you mean. To be honest, I just go to VA meetings and sit at the back, and keep my head down and my mouth shut,” he explains. “But it’s... surprisingly effective. I mean, I know our history’s not exactly relatable, but the outcome is pretty similar.” _Guilt. Regret_. Steve knows what Bucky’s talking about, he’s had that conversation with Sam once. Bucky shrugs. “I dunno, I guess it’s nice to see we’re not alone.”

He hums in agreement, playing with Bucky’s fingers. They haven’t let go yet, and it feels so natural that it’s hard to believe they’d never been like this, hand in hand, before. “Sam invited me for one of those, back in DC.” He shakes his head. “Never ended up going.”

“Yeah, you were too busy getting shot at, huh.” Steve can hear the self-loathing in his voice and he gives Bucky’s hand a squeeze. He doesn’t want them to get stuck in this endless cycle of guilt, so he’s going to break it now.

“Look, I don’t think you need this, but maybe you do, so here it goes.” Steve takes a deep breath. Bucky’s eyes go wide like he’s awaiting execution. “You’re forgiven. I forgive you, Buck.” Bucky actually sags a little beside him, his shoulders dropping. Steve takes the opportunity to steal a kiss, because he can. He smiles against Bucky’s lips. “We good now?”

He feels rather than sees the corners of Bucky’s mouth tugging upwards as well. “We’re getting there,” Bucky offers. It’s good enough for Steve. 

And then they’re kissing again, a little more urgent than before, and with a lot more tongue too. Steve has to physically extract himself from Bucky sometime later because things might be going a little faster than he’s ready for. They’re both slightly out of breath when he pulls away, and that’s another indicator that they need to slow down. Steve, at least, does. 

“We should go together sometime,” Bucky suggests quietly, running his free hand up and down Steve’s arm. “To the VA,” he clarifies.

“I dunno, Buck. Don’t you think my presence might disrupt things?” He chews on the inside of his cheek. The last thing Steve wants is to take the focus away from other veterans.

Bucky scoffs. “Don’t give yourself _that_ much credit, Stevie.” Steve kicks him. But he does it with the left leg and it hurts him more than it does Bucky. He lets out a colorful string of curses and, for some reason—it might be exhaustion—it sends them both into a fit of laughter, which keeps on going every time they catch each other’s eyes, and Steve has never felt lighter.

\---

“I think I did it,” Bucky says later—it must be near dawn, Steve thinks. At some point his back started to bother him too much to ignore, so he suggested they move to the bed. They didn’t do more than lazily make out, but Steve couldn’t be happier. He’s not yet cleared for _strenuous activities,_ the PT doctor had said, and then added _that includes sex,_ to Steve’s extreme mortification, since he shares the gym with a couple of old ladies. Not that Steve feels ready for that. He’s literally just kissed Bucky for the first time a few hours ago, and this isn’t something he thinks they should rush into. He hums to show that he’s listening, and Bucky goes on, “I think I might have gotten rid of every Hydra cell in the US.”

“What?” Steve had been close to sleep, but that wakes him up real fast.

“I’ve been trying to get them arrested,” Bucky explains. “Been dropping them at police stations along with enough proof of their involvement with Hydra to put them away for good.” He’s lying on Steve’s good side, using Steve’s chest as a pillow and Steve tightens his hold on the arm he has draped over Bucky’s shoulder. 

“Arrested?” Steve doesn’t believe himself to be a vengeful person, he never thought Bucky was one either, but sending these people to jail is definitely _not_ the route he would’ve taken. Hell would’ve been more likely.

“Yeah,” Bucky confirms. He turns his face up to look at Steve. “That day at SHIELD, when you set me free.” Steve wouldn’t give himself that much credit, but he nods anyway, to show that he knows what Bucky’s talking about. “That day I decided I would never kill anyone again. Not even if it was _them_ , or if part of me felt like they deserved it.” He shakes his head. “They don’t get to make a murderer out of me anymore.”

For a moment, Steve can only stare at him. 

Over the course of his life, there were times when he just couldn’t help but wonder if Bucky was even real. Someone with a heart that big, in a world that cynical. It seemed to Steve, at first before he got used to it, like one of those things that were just too good to be true. And this, this is one of those moments, but instead of doubt, his heart swells with pride. Because even though he knows Bucky really is _that_ good, it still catches him by surprise, especially now when he has every reason not to be. And Steve is so full of love for him that it fills up every bit of his soul.

He grips the back of Bucky’s neck to pull him down and crush their lips together. 

Bucky chuckles against his mouth.

“Please don’t crack my teeth, I’m unemployed.”

Steve snorts. “God, I fucking love you, you know that.”

Bucky hums, giving him a more gentle peck. “It’s always good to be reminded.” Another peck. “Love you too, Stevie.” Then he settles back against Steve’s chest, a hand resting over Steve’s stomach. “That’s actually why I kept showing up here all banged up. It turns out, uh—it’s kinda hard to be non-lethal.”

“Oh, that makes sense. I was afraid of what kind of people you might be going after,” Steve tells him, “to get those.” It also explains why everyone was so spooked at the last base the Avengers raided. They knew Bucky was coming for them.

“Yeah,” Bucky breathes, snuggling closer. “A bunch of cowards who can’t shoot for shit.”

“You didn’t actually need me to stitch you, did you?”

“You owed me,” Bucky says, confirming Steve’s theory. “I spent my entire adolescence wiping blood off your nose.” Steve can’t see his face but he knows the smirk is there. Then Bucky sighs. “I’m sorry it was fucking with your head, though. I didn’t mean it, just wanted to be close for a bit.”

Steve tightens his hold on him again. “I understand.”

They’re silent for a moment, their quiet breathing the only sound in the room. Steve’s eyes slip shut, and he thinks Bucky might already be asleep, but then he shuffles and says softly:

“After what happened to you because of them, I had to up my game.” Judging by his voice, Steve figures Bucky _is_ , in fact, on the cusp of sleep. “I went all over the country looking for them,” he mumbles. Steve kisses the top of his head. “That’s why I stopped coming to the hospital.” A yawn “Also, I had to ditch the phone.”

Steve makes a sound at the back of his throat that’s neither here nor there, just to show that he’s paying attention. But Bucky doesn’t say anything else so he allows himself to go under as well.

\---

The sun is already high in the sky when Steve wakes up, its rays hitting him straight in the face through the open window. He stretches as much as he can with Bucky’s body half on top of him, groaning as his muscles protest the fact that he’s been in the same position for way too long. Bucky mumbles unintelligibly in his sleep when Steve shuffles his way out from under him. Steve shushes him, and kisses his forehead, because he can do that now and he will never tire of it. He gets a grunt and a frown in response before Bucky turns around, burying his face in the pillow.

It’s cute as all get out and Steve’s not going to lie, the whole scene makes him feel downright giddy.

He pulls the curtains shut so Bucky can get some more sleep in the dark, and then limps his way to the bathroom. He relieves himself and washes his face, and he can hardly believe how much things can change in a day. Yesterday morning he woke up and he was Captain America, and he had no idea where Bucky was or when he would see him again. Now Steve’s just Steve—though he thinks it might take a while for some people to get used to that—and Bucky’s just a room away, drooling on Steve’s pillowcase. 

Steve grins at his reflection. 

Nice way to start the rest of their lives.

When he gets back to the bedroom his phone is once more trying to vibrate itself off the nightstand. Steve catches it before it meets its demise, and checks the caller ID. It’s Sam. He glances at Bucky’s sleeping form, and then at the door, which seems really far away. He shrugs, sitting on the edge of the bed. If this wakes Bucky up, then well, Steve figures he can take one for the team. He accepts the call, leaning against the headboard so he can stretch his legs on the bed.

“Morning,” he greets. He might sound a bit too cheerful, but maybe Sam won’t notice.

“ _Whoa_!” He did. Steve pinches the bridge of his nose, but he can’t quite keep the smile off his face. “ _So, we’re happy today, huh?_ ”

“Maybe,” Steve answers, trying and failing at being nonchalant.

“ _Well, you should be_ ,” Sam says. “ _Your crazy-ass plan is working._ ”

Steve sits up straighter. “It is?” Bucky had said the same thing yesterday, but things could change. Apparently, they didn’t. Steve glances down. Bucky has one eye open and is looking up at him. Steve winks at him. Bucky wrinkles his nose. Right, Steve had almost forgotten; he’s not a morning person.

“ _Yeah_ ,” Sam confirms. Steve knows Bucky can hear both sides of the conversation, but he still mouths Sam’s name. Bucky nods. “ _Hashtag I Stand With Barnes is trending everywhere. A lot of politicians are using it too._ ”

“Oh.” Steve blinks. Bucky frowns. 

“ _Yup. Turns out no one wants to throw the first stone and risk having to explain how the government fucked up so bad they left one of their own behind, to be captured and turned against the country._ ”

Bucky’s breath hitches at that, and Steve switches the phone from one hand to the other so he can find Bucky’s on the bed and squeeze it.

“So they’re gonna leave him alone?” Steve asks. This is all he cares about. The government can shove their fake solidarity where the sun doesn't shine. Steve just needs them to let Bucky be.

“ _I think so_ ,” Sam tells him. “ _You, on the other hand…_ ” he trails off.

Steve suppresses a sigh. “What about me?”

“ _There were talks about, uh, you not being allowed to just quit._ ” That gets Bucky to sit up, mouthing a _what the fuck_ at Steve. “ _They were shut down as fast as they came up, though._ ”

“Pepper?”

“ _Stark_ ,” Sam corrects. “ _Tony made an actual live on Instagram_.”

“What did he say?”

“A lot,” Sam chuckles. “He was there for almost an hour. But the gist of it is that you don’t belong to the government and anyone who disagrees with that probably endorses slavery and therefore their opinion is irrelevant.”

Steve snorts out a surprised laugh. “Fuck.”

“Yeah, yeah. Times a changin’. And you and Barnes are free now.” Steve likes the sound of that.

“Speaking of Bucky,” he says. “Gimme a sec.” Then he hangs up on Sam and turns to Bucky. “You okay with telling Sam you’re here?”

Bucky takes a moment to think about it. “You mean here in your place or _here_ in bed with you?”

“I’m not ashamed of—”

Bucky raises a hand to stop him. “I didn’t say you were. Cool it, SJW.” He nods at Steve’s phone. “Go ahead.”

“What does that mean,” Steve asks as he opens the app for a video call, “SJW?”

“Social Justice Warrior,” Bucky explains. Steve rolls his eyes. The call rings. “Saw it on the internet, couldn’t believe there wasn’t a picture of you attached to it.”

“Jerk,” Steve says, just as Sam accepts the call.

“ _You_ hung up on _me,_ ” Sam replies, squinting at the screen.

“Sorry, no, I wasn’t—I wasn’t talking to you.” He rubs the back of his neck. “Sam, I want you to meet someone.” He lowers his hand and gently tugs Bucky towards him. He doesn’t offer any resistance and Steve watches Sam’s eyebrows meet his hairline when Bucky comes into frame.

“Hi,” Bucky says shyly and with a little wave.

“Oh. My. God,” Sam says. Then Steve thinks the call froze because Sam’s gone static, and he’s about to hang up and call back when Sam starts blinking again. “Holy shit, I mean, hi. Hey, uh, I don’t think we were ever properly introduced.”

Bucky cringes. “Yeah, uh. Sorry about that.”

But Sam—bless him—just waves him off. “Don’t worry about it. We’re good.” Steve feels Bucky relax beside him, and breathes out his own sigh of relief, adjusting his hold on the phone. “Wait a minute,” Sam exclaims, gaping at the screen. “Are you guys _in bed?_ ”


	15. Bad habit, I know

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, here we are, guys! End of the line :')  
> I have to once again thank my incredible friend, [The Confused Flamingo](https://anemotionallyunstablecreature.tumblr.com/) for her work as a beta and her support, and the awesome [Bi_Biblichor](https://moodbotany.tumblr.com/) for the beautiful art that has made this story even more special. A huge thanks to everybody who's followed this story on the course of the week and left comments and kudos which warmed my heart every time I got a notification! I had a great time working on this fic and it makes me really happy to see you guys enjoyed reading it.  
> Don forget to check out the [playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4UzMfoOIPp9irglvf19tXb?si=-sZCTydsSByDDTP00SSdIw)!

Steve feels like he’s living in a bubble; outside of time and space. Some days he wakes up and it takes a moment until he can fully believe that this is his reality now. Then he shifts on the bed and catches sight of Bucky—often still fast asleep, mouth open and drooling a little—and Steve can’t help the smile that tugs at the corners of his mouth.

It’s funny, but the saying is true, the more things change, the more they _do_ stay the same. Living together is no news for them, and neither is sharing a bed, to be honest. They’ve gone through some tough times where body heat was literally the only kind they could afford. But then, there are other things, new ones, like touches that can linger for as long as they want, holding hands, making out. Those they didn’t use to do, and yet it doesn’t feel like that drastic a change in their dynamic. It’s more like a natural progression of it, if you ask Steve. So much so that he doesn’t feel like opening the horse’s mouth to check its teeth anymore. This time around he’s just going to enjoy the gift.

And what a gift it is.

When Steve finally decides to check for himself the reactions to his press conference, he’s happily stunned by what he finds. Sure, both Bucky and Sam had told him his words had been well received, but it’s a whole other thing reading the comments with his own eyes. 

Steve sets up camp in the corner of the sofa, his legs extended out in front of him and a tablet in his hand and scrolls through Twitter for what feels like hours, until he feels his feet being lifted and looks up to see Bucky taking a seat, putting them down on his lap. He rests his hands on Steve’s ankles, and Steve smiles at him.

“Are you seriously reading every single thing people said about the conference?” Bucky asks with a raised eyebrow.

“Just the good bits,” Steve tells him. And it’s true. Not everybody was in favor of what he said, and ever so often he comes across one of those comments, but for once in his life, Steve’s not completely taken by the urge to shoot back. It helps that most of the bad stuff’s been directed at him so far, and he couldn’t care less about what people think of him. Steve’s way more interested in reading about all the support Bucky’s been getting. “As the founding member, I like to see how many people joined Team Bucky.” Steve gives him a shit-eating grin. “I feel very proud.”

Bucky snorts, shaking his head. “You’re full of shit, Rogers,” he accuses. But Steve can still see the blush creeping up his cheeks and he takes it as a win. 

“I’m serious,” Steve insists, scrolling back to find something he’d seen earlier. Bingo. “There are even t-shirts now.” He turns the tablet around so Bucky can see the poorly photoshopped t-shirt with a picture of his face—the one with his hat tipping to the side—and #TeamBucky written under it. 

Bucky's eyes grow wide in horror. “That’s not real. There’s no way that’s real.”

“Well, I hope it is,” Steve says, trying very hard to keep from laughing. “Because I just bought a whole box of ‘em.” 

And then he can’t help it anymore. He bursts into a fit of giggles and Bucky ends up confiscating the tablet for the rest of the day, which probably makes him feel like he got the upper hand, until a couple of days later, when the box arrives and Steve gives a t-shirt to each of the Avengers, saving one for Thor, for when he comes back to Earth. Bucky glares at him for a few hours, but Steve’s not the least bit sorry.

When Sam posts a picture of himself with Nat, Clint, and Bruce all wearing the #TeamBucky t-shirts on Instagram, Bucky’s the one to show it to Steve. He walks gingerly into the bedroom and practically shoves his phone in Steve’s face. Steve looks from the screen to him, blinking. Bucky’s worrying at his lower lip.

“Are they just making fun or—” He lets the rest of the question hang in the air, but Steve knows what he means.

“I don’t think so, Buck,” he says. “But hey, come on, let’s check.” He scooches over on the bed to give Bucky space to sit, which he does, a little uncertain, while Steve calls Nat. “Hey, Nat,” Steve greets when she picks up. “You’re on speaker.”

“ _Hi, yourself,_ ” Nat says cheerfully. “ _And the nuclear codes are_ —”

“I know those,” Bucky cuts in, sounding a little surprised.

“ _Spoilsport,_ ” Nat complains over the phone.

Steve wishes he could tell whether they were joking. But that’s not the point, so he goes back to it.

“Great. But, uh, I’m actually calling about the picture Sam posted.” He glances at Bucky, who’s gone back to looking a bit defensive, so Steve takes hold of his hand.

“ _What about it?_ ” Nat asks.

He keeps his eyes on Bucky when he asks: “Do you guys mean it?”

“ _Of course,_ ” Nat replies without missing a beat. “ _We wouldn’t post it if we didn’t._ ” Pause. “ _Is James still there?_ ”

“Yeah,” Bucky answers softly.

Then Nat says something in Russian, which makes Bucky’s eyes well up, and he clears his throat before replying in kind. Steve lets go of his hand to put his arm over Bucky’s shoulder, pulling Bucky flush against him. He doesn’t know what they’re saying, but he thinks he has a good guess. Bucky leans against him, sniffing and they talk quietly for a few more minutes before Nat switches to English to say she has to go. 

After exchanging goodbyes, they hang up and Steve kisses the top of Bucky’s head. Bucky turns to give him a watery smile. 

“You okay?” 

Bucky rubs his hands over his face and sighs. “I think so,” he says a moment later. Then he looks at Steve. “Did you know that I shot her? Steve nods. “Did you know that I trained her?” _That_ Steve didn’t know. “Yeah, apparently the Winter Soldier was rented to the Red Room in the nineties.”

“Oh.”

“I don’t remember any of this,” Bucky admits. He frowns. “I thought I had all my memories back already.”

Steve runs a hand up and down his arm. “They’ll come back, Buck. Give it time.”

“How much more?” Bucky asks him, desperate. “I remember so much of our lives before. I remember what I—did. I remember the War. But I still don’t know how much is missing. What if I never get all of it back?”

“Well, I’ll be here to remind you of whatever you wanna know about our lives,” Steve reassures him. “And the rest,” he hesitates, “maybe—maybe it’d be for the best… to let it go?”

Bucky shakes his head. “I dunno. It feels like I’m trying to get away with it,” he sighs. “Like I get a pass, just cos I don’t remember. Isn’t that unfair to the people I hurt?”

With his hand, Steve takes Bucky’s again and laces their fingers together. “I can’t speak for them, Buck. But I don’t think it’s fair to you either, to live on assumptions. If you want, we can try to find a way to get your memories back. Technology is so advanced these days, maybe there’s something that can help.” Steve doesn’t like the words coming out of his mouth and it must show on his face because Bucky’s frown deepens.

“But you still think it’s better to let go?”

Steve bites his lip, but nods. Bucky doesn’t agree or disagree with him, he simply goes quiet, his head resting on Steve’s shoulder, lost in thought. Steve wishes there was a simple solution he could offer, something that would give Bucky some sort of closure without opening more wounds or poking at old ones. But though he hasn’t figured that out yet, he can at least hold Bucky tight and give him love and time to heal.

\---

Of course, there are still obstacles. Every journey has them. And Steve’s not naive enough to think that just because things are looking up now, there won’t be any problems along the way. But he’s learning to deal with them too, instead of despairing or trying to punch his frustration away. Therapy’s been helping him put things into perspective, his friends keep him grounded, and Bucky gives him a home to come back to. So all in all, Steve can say he’s got support, and it makes it easier when things get hard. It does. 

But they’re still hard.

Sometimes he doesn’t want to go to physical therapy because it fucking hurts and it feels pointless, even though he can’t deny that it _has_ improved his mobility over time. But it didn’t take away the limping, or the backache he gets occasionally from staying in the same position for too long. So there are days when Steve just wants to bury his head in the sand and wallow in self-pity, because he misses running with Sam and he can’t stand the sight of the cane. On these days, Bucky gives him the space to mourn, but he doesn’t allow it to go on for too long. 

Ever since he retired, Steve hasn’t been going out of the house much. So when he’s feeling particularly down, he tends to stay in bed for longer than he usually does. 

Today, his internal clock tells him it’s close to midday when Bucky comes into the bedroom and pushes the curtains open.

“Up you go, Rogers, come on!”

Steve grunts something between _fuck off_ and _five more minutes_ , but his mind is still kind of foggy with the last tendrils of sleep so he’s not entirely sure what’s coming out of his mouth just yet. Bucky, though, is having none of it. He pushes the covers to the side and sits down next to Steve.

“Come on, sleepyhead,” he says gently, carding his fingers through Steve’s hair, pushing it off his face. “You’ve already missed breakfast, you’re not skipping lunch too.”

Steve opens his eyes. “‘M not hungry.”

“I didn’t ask if you were,” Bucky smirks.

“Jerk.”

“Punk,” Bucky replies automatically. Then he sighs. “Come on, Steve. There’s a surprise waiting for you.”

Steve narrows his eyes at him. “I’m not actually a child you know.”

“Could’ve fooled me, pal.”

Steve grunts a curse in response but follows him out of bed all the same. He catches his reflection in the mirror as he goes. His hair is all over the place and there are a couple of pillow creases on his cheek. He snorts. 

“Cute,” Bucky says, offering Steve a soft smile when he looks at him. He’s not teasing, he means it, and it makes Steve’s heart sing.

Steve grins back, feeling himself blush.

They get to the living room and, sure enough, there’s a white rectangular box with the Stark Industries logo sitting on their coffee table. It looks like a shoebox and Steve’s about to go straight to it when Bucky steers him away.

“Food first,” Bucky says.

So Steve munches on the sandwiches Bucky made for lunch while they debate on what could be inside.

“What do you think it is?” Steve asks after they’d finished and moved to the living room.

“Well, it’s not a bomb, I can tell you that.”

With a deep breath, Steve reaches for the lid and takes it off. Both he and Bucky lean forward to peer inside. Then they share a confused look. Inside the box, there’s a single, well, it looks like a pant leg, or a very long sock. Steve pulls it out, holding it up in front of him. It’s made of a light material; he can’t tell what it is, but it’s not simple fabric, it’s more like a mesh.

“Is that a stocking?” Bucky asks.

“I don’t know.” Unlike a sock, the end of the legging is open. 

“This might explain it,” Bucky says, fishing a white envelope from the bottom of the box and handing it to Steve. His name’s on the back. In Tony’s handwriting.

Steve sets the legging down on his lap and takes the letter. He huffs. He hasn’t seen Tony since he left the hospital. He also couldn’t help but notice Tony’s absence in the #TeamBucky photo a few weeks ago, but he supposes that might have been a lot to ask of him just yet. He doesn’t resent him. With a glance at Bucky, Steve steels himself and opens the envelope.

The letter inside is more like a note than anything. Tony doesn’t even bother with greetings before he goes straight to what he wants to say. Steve reads it.

 _So, I’ve been working on this thing in my spare time. You know, when I had nothing better to do, and well, it turned out to be a brace, for your leg. So, the gist of it is that you’ll wear it under your pants it’s supposed to take some of the strain off your leg and help you bend it a little more naturally, which will help you walk better, and if I’ve done my job right_ — _which obviously I have, because I’m nothing but awesome_ — _you won’t need to use the cane when you’re wearing it. Now, it’s a prototype and it probably needs some adjustments along the way, so you’ll have to give me some reports on how it’s working. Also, this thing is kind of built like a compression sock so I wouldn’t recommend wearing it for long periods of time, but we can work on that as we go._

Steve wordlessly hands the note to Buck as he stares down at the brace, lightly running his fingers over it.

“Whoa, Stevie,” Bucky breathes out a moment later. “That’s—that’s really nice of him.”

“Yeah,” Steve agrees, scratching at his beard. “Yeah.”

“Well, let’s see if it works,” Bucky prompts.

It does. It’s a little tight and it doesn’t completely take away Steve’s limp, but it helps him bend his knee enough to walk without the cane. After taking a couple of laps around the living room, Steve sits down again, a bubble of laughter escaping his lips. He feels like crying.

“Shit,” he sighs.

Bucky sits next to him and rubs his back. “You alright, pal?” 

Steve turns to him, taking a moment to think about his answer as he studies Bucky’s face. He looks pleased, but at the same time, a bit unsure. That uncertainty is always there whenever Tony’s mentioned, and Steve’s only now realizing he’s never addressed the cause of it with Bucky. And that gives him an idea.

“It’s—it’s good,” he answers, nodding, “it works really well.” He takes a breath and gets a hold of Bucky’s metal hand. “Buck, uh, about Howard...” Bucky immediately avoids his gaze, looking down. He tries to pull his hand free, but Steve holds firm. “It wasn’t your fault.”

Bucky shakes his head. “I did it,” he says quietly. “My hands, Steve. I remember.”

“Did you choose to do it?”

That, at least, gets Bucky to blink at him. “No, but I—”

“That’s it, Buck,” Steve cuts in, not wanting Bucky to go down the self-loathing road he seems to be heading towards “You didn’t choose any of this. You’d never have hurt him intentionally. This was done to you too.” Steve shifts so he’s fully facing Bucky. “You and Tony, I think you should talk.”

“Steve…”

“No, hear me out,” Steve insists. “I think—I think this can bring you some sort of closure, Buck.”

“How?” Bucky asks, wide eyed, scared. 

Steve runs his thumb over the back of Bucky’s hand.

“I don’t know,” he admits. “But maybe, if you talk to each other, it can help ease the pain, for both of you.” Steve leans forward until their foreheads are touching, cupping Bucky’s face with his free hand. “Tony’s reasonable. He was hurt, but he knows you had no choice in this. He knows what happened to you, Buck. He was a POW too. He understands survival.”

Bucky closes his eyes. With his brows knit together, he spends a few moments thinking about it. Steve doesn’t rush him. This is hard. And he’ll give Bucky as much time as he needs to figure out what he wants to do. After a beat, Bucky exhales tiredly, putting some space between them as he opens his eyes so that they can look at each other.

“Alright,” he nods. “I guess you can, uh, give him my number?”

“Okay,” Steve smiles encouragingly. “I can do that, yeah.”

He jumps straight to it, not wanting to give Bucky time to back out, because though he might be overconfident, Steve does think that this will be good for both Bucky and Tony. So he grabs his phone and scrolls down his contacts, quickly finding Tony’s number. First, Steve sends him a message with a simple _thank you,_ getting a _let me know how it’s working_ , followed by a series of technical questions. He goes through them, and, when it seems that Tony’s finally satisfied, he steels himself, throwing a glance at Bucky, who’s worrying at his bottom lip by his side. 

Steve types in Bucky’s number and hits send before he can think too much. He gets a line of question marks in response, to which he replies:

_Bucky’s number. I think you two should talk_

He doesn’t get an answer to that. So he and Bucky try to go on with their day. Tony had a point, he really can’t wear the brace for too long, but still, it does give him some reprieve from the cane, and Steve is incredibly thankful for that.

By the time they’re already in bed, at the end of the day, Bucky’s phone chimes. Steve’s not really paying attention, engrossed in the sketch he’s working on. He catches sight of Bucky picking the phone from the nightstand to check the notification. Steve doesn’t pay it any mind, until a couple of minutes go by and Bucky has yet to move.

“Who is it?”

Bucky simply shows him the phone.

_Tower tomorrow @ 3pm_

He blinks at Steve. Steve blinks back. He doesn’t ask Bucky if he’s going to go. He just sets the sketchbook aside and throws his arm over Bucky’s shoulder, resting his head on Bucky’s.

“It’s gonna be alright,” Steve promises confidently. Because he knows it is.

\---

The next day Steve barely sees Bucky. He leaves early for a PT session he’d rescheduled; from there, he goes straight to Julia’s office for therapy, and then Nat picks him up and they have lunch together with Sam. By the time he’s back home, Bucky’s already gone for his meeting with Tony. 

Steve is apprehensive. He wants to send Bucky a text, to see how things are going, but decides against it. Bucky and Tony need space to figure out where they stand with each other. So he tries to busy himself while he waits. 

And he fails miserably. 

His legs keep bouncing every time he sits down, making his lap too unstable to support the sketchbook on it. To make matters worse, he’s worn the brace for too long today, after already wearing out his muscles at physiotherapy, so Steve has no choice but to go back to the cane. 

Despite the discomfort, he’s pacing a little when Bucky gets home. 

He halts at the sound of the door, then swivels around to find Bucky standing stock still in front of him. His eyes red-rimmed. Then, something that has never occurred during all the years they’ve been friends happens. Bucky runs to him. He throws his arms around Steve’s neck and buries his face just below Steve’s shoulder, and he breaks. 

Steve staggers a little with the force of it, but he manages to find his footing and then drops the cane in order to close his arms around Bucky and hold him tight as he sobs into Steve’s chest. For as long as they’ve known each other, it’s always been the other way around. Steve gets upset and his first instinct is to run to Bucky, to seek comfort in his presence. Bucky, however, has never allowed himself the same solace. Even when he was clearly hurting after Azzano, he never let Steve carry his burden, never shared his pain. 

Steve knew why. And it made him feel guilty and selfish. He got in trouble so often, whenever he wasn’t bedridden with something or another. And Bucky took Steve’s well being upon his shoulders, from a very early age. He thought he had to be strong for the two of them, and Steve let him. 

He should’ve tried harder, he thinks now, as he runs his fingers through Bucky’s short hair. Steve should’ve let him know that it goes both ways. That they can both support each other. That Bucky can lean on him too. 

He tightens his hold on Bucky, giving him a safe place to fall apart. Steve will catch him, he promises silently, planting a kiss to the crown of Bucky’s head.

“I’m here, sweetheart,” Steve mutters against his hair. He only gets a sniff in response, but it doesn’t faze him. “It’s gonna be alright, Buck. We’re gonna be alright.” He feels Bucky nodding under his chin. Then, after a few more minutes, he dislodges himself from Steve and takes a step back, rubbing his flesh hand over his face. Steve offers him a small, lopsided smile. “Feeling better?” he asks quietly.

“I think so?” It sounds a bit like a question, but Steve doesn’t press him. He wets his lips then nods to himself before gazing at Steve again. “No, yeah,” he says, more certain. “Yeah, I think I’m okay. We talked, and, uh, he doesn’t hate me.” He huffs, marveling at the seemingly impossible concept. “Steve, he doesn’t hate me.” Steve knew that already, but he doesn’t say anything, just lets his smile grow bigger.

“C’mere,” he says, smiling softly and opening his arms so Bucky can fit himself back in. Then Steve hugs him. “Told you it’d be good to talk,” he gloats a little, because he’s only human and he can’t help it. 

Bucky snorts. “Yeah, fine. I’ll give you that one.”

“What was that?” Steve pulls his face away so he can look at him. “Are you admitting I was right? Sounds like you’re admitting I was right.”

Bucky rolls his eyes, but then he grows serious again. “You were,” he says earnestly, causing a lump to lodge itself in Steve’s throat. He snakes his hand up Steve’s neck and pulls him down for a kiss. “Thank you,” Bucky says against his lips.

Steve steals another kiss, smiling into it. “You’re welcome, Buck.”

\---

The day they get Bucky legally back to the land of the living, a whole month, and a mountain of paperwork—Steve seriously needs to find whoever did this for him at SHIELD and send them a fruit basket—later, they celebrate it with the Avengers at the Tower. At first, it seems like things might still be awkward between Bucky and Tony, but, as the night goes on, they both grow more comfortable in each other’s presence. Steve’s not naive, he knows there’s no magic solution to fix what happened to them, but he’s happy to see that it’s at least a work in progress. 

He also knows that Bucky and Tony are both huge nerds, so he suspects that it won’t be too long before they hit it off over some tech or another. Steve has already caught Tony eyeing Bucky’s left arm a couple of times during the night, so that might happen sooner than he expects.

Bucky’s stunned into silence when he checks his bank account after someone suggests he download the app. And Steve mouths a smug _told you_ at him from across the room where he’s getting drinks. Bucky gives him the finger. 

Later on, when they’re all sprawled out on sofas, Bucky rests his head on Steve’s shoulder and sighs.“I feel like an actual burden on society,” he says. “Someone with way too much money, paying way too little tax for it, and who’s not doing anything to contribute to a better world.”

“You know what, Terminator,” Tony says, dropping down into the armchair across from them. “I might be able to help you with that.” He points at Steve. “I think you might want in too.”

“Do tell,” Steve prompts, taking a sip of his beer. 

“Three words,” Tony starts, counting them on his fingers as he says, “Stark. Relief. Foundation.”

He explains to them what kind of work the foundation does and Steve and Bucky exchange a look then turn back to Tony.

“We’re in,” they say in unison. 

That day, Steve also finds out that he’s regained the ability to get drunk. And for his part, Bucky never lost his. It takes a little more than it did when they were teenagers, but sure enough, by the end of the night Steve’s swaying a little on his feet and Bucky can’t stop giggling. It’s adorable. Steve wants to kiss his entire face. And he’s happy to discover, after Clint drops them home, that Bucky is more than okay with that. 

They make out on the couch like they’re running out of time, hands going everywhere they can reach and mouths only letting go to travel down the other’s neck and take a breath. And if that sends both of them over the edge, crossing a new threshold in their relationship, well, it’s just the natural progression of things.

When Steve wakes up the next morning, Bucky’s watching him as if he can’t quite believe he’s real. Steve doesn’t even accuse him of being creepy. He understands. He feels the same. He loses himself in the gray-blue of Bucky’s eyes and, this time, when their hands wander each other’s bodies, they’re softer, more delicate, almost reverent. They kiss lazily, completely opposite to last night, like they have their entire lives ahead of them, and there’s no need to rush anything. Which is true. So they don’t. 

Steve explores every inch of Bucky he can get his hands or mouth on, reveling in the sounds he can pull out of him, discarding his shirt so he can trail kisses all over his collarbone and chest. Happiness flutters in his stomach, and Steve feels almost dizzy with it. Bucky’s hands, firm on his hips, feel so much like home, even though they’ve never done this before, that Steve can’t help but smile between kisses. 

And Bucky might be reading his mind right now, because he mirrors Steve’s expression, both grinning like kids in love. And then they’re moving as one, giving it all to each other and taking everything in return, falling apart and rebuilding themselves, and fitting perfectly against one another, like the last two pieces of a puzzle coming together to form a whole picture.

Then, when they’re satisfied and tired, Steve rests his head on Bucky’s shoulder. He closes his eyes, just for a moment, just to wait for his breathing to regulate itself. 

“I love you,” Bucky says, sounding as tired as Steve feels and close to sleep.

“Love you too, Buck,” Steve mumbles, snuggling closer as he's peacefully overtaken by sleep. 

\---

To say that Steve was fine the first time he had to watch his teammates assemble without him would’ve been a lie. Bucky’s hand kept finding his knee to stop it from bouncing, and he smiled reassuringly at Steve the whole plane ride to Tibet as they followed behind the Avengers’ quinjet with the other people working for the Relief Foundation and the Iron Legion.

Fortunately, the fight was brief, none of the Avengers got seriously hurt and most of the civilians had only scratches on them. The buildings where the battle took place weren’t so lucky, though. And that was where Steve and Bucky came in.

Steve might not be at the top of his game anymore, but he’s still stronger than a regular human, and his strength combined with Bucky’s makes them work faster than the rest of the Foundation personnel. Once he realizes that, Steve tries to start a—one-sided—competition against the robots, to see who could lift more rubble in less time. 

He ends up overworking his left leg and falling on his ass not long after.

Bucky benches him, glaring at Steve as he pulls him up and helps him wobble his way through the debris until they find a concrete slab where Steve can sit. Thankfully, there’s not much more to do, so he doesn’t put up much of a fight.

Instead, Steve takes off his helmet to push his sweaty hair back and off his forehead, and he watches Bucky. He’s wearing the same dark utility uniform as Steve and the rest of the Foundation, the long sleeves, and gloves concealing his metal arm. It's not hard to see he’s completely in his element here, asking the civilians where they need him to go next, directing the injured to the medical tents, and helping lost kids find their parents. If these people know who he is, Steve can't tell, but it's clear how much they appreciate Bucky's being here.

And even from afar, Steve can see how pleased he is to be able to help. It makes Steve’s own chest warm up pleasantly at the sight.

His phone vibrates in his pocket and he fishes it out, unlocking the screen to find a message from Nat telling him to join the rest of the group for dinner when they’re done. Steve shoots her a quick reply, accepting the invitation, and is about to put his phone back when a shadow falls over him. He smiles up at Bucky.

“We’ve been invited to dinner,” he announces, putting the phone away.

Bucky takes a seat next to him, groaning as he tries to work on the kinks in his shoulders by rolling them in small circles to the back and then the front. “Nice,” he answers, before letting out a tired sigh.

Steve nudges him. “Hey,” he calls, waiting for Bucky to look at him before continuing. “I’ll take care of you when we get home,” he promises quietly with a wink. Bucky smiles at him, sweet as sugar. He glances around; Steve does the same. There are still too many people on the streets. 

When they look back at each other it’s with matching expressions of resignation. This does nothing to prevent Bucky from reaching up to mess Steve’s hair. “I’ll hold you to that promise, Rogers,” he says, withdrawing his hand before Steve can get the chance to bat it away.

Steve presses his shoulder to Bucky’s, lingering there for a couple of seconds and then straightening up again. “You know I’m a man of my word,’ he mutters, getting an amused snort in return, which he chooses to ignore. “Hey, Buck.”

“Huh?”

Steve looks up at him, and, as always, is completely mesmerized by what he sees. The setting sun is showering Bucky’s face with orange hues, and it makes his eyes seem brighter. His hair has grown a bit and he has about two days worth of stubble framing his face. Steve’s eyes linger on his lips for a moment and he’s rewarded with a sliver of tongue, peaking out to quickly wet his lips.

Steve’s fingers itch to draw him, but not as much as they itch to hold him close. 

“Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?” Steve asks softly. 

Bucky scoffs, glancing away as he shakes his head. But there’s nothing he can do to keep Steve from seeing the slight blush in his cheeks. “Stop that, Rogers,” he chides.

“I mean it,” Steve insists, offering Bucky the most heated look he can muster.

It makes Bucky’s voice drop an octave the next time he speaks.

“Don’t make me cause an international scandal, Stevie,” he growls, casually stretching out his arms so that one of his hands brushes the back of Steve’s neck on its way down. 

Steve has to use all of his will power to suppress a shiver. He shuffles a bit on the slab, suddenly hot under all his clothes. Beside him, Bucky stands up, and has the gall to start whistling like he has no idea what he’s done, while Steve busies himself by counting dead cats in his head.

“Come on,” Bucky calls, glancing at him over his shoulder so that Steve can see the smirk on his face. “Let’s get out of here.”

He starts walking away and Steve, much like he’s done his whole life, gets up and follows him.

\---

The second they get home, Steve makes good on his promise.

And later, when they’re happily dozing off in bed, tired and satisfied, Steve takes advantage of the quiet to tell Bucky how proud he is of him for everything.

“You did really good, Buck.”

“You really think so?” He asks in such a small voice it tugs at Steve’s heart and Steve immediately hums in assent.

“Of course,” he says, not missing a beat.

“I’m proud of you too,” Bucky tells him after a moment. “I know it wasn’t easy, watching them go without you.”

“Yeah,” Steve agrees. “But I could still help.” He remembers Tony telling him there was more than one way he could be useful. Steve understood then, but he can really see it now. “I’m glad I can still help.”

Bucky doesn’t say anything else, he simply tightens his hold on him and that’s all Steve needs.

\---

And so life goes on, with its ups and downs.

They’re both sometimes plagued by nightmares, though it hits them in different ways. Steve’s been told he thrashes around, crying out, while Bucky simply curls in on himself, whimpering. It’s not the end of the world though, and they’ve mostly learned how to deal with it with the help of their shrinks, their friends, and each other. So the nightmares don’t always keep them awake for the rest of the night once they’re dragged out of it.

But today, it’s not one of those times.

Bucky was muttering distressed words in Russian—Steve’s getting better at recognizing it, since Bucky sometimes has full conversations with Nat in the language—so Steve gently woke him up. It took about an hour for Bucky to fully come back to himself, and Steve used that time to get them to the kitchen—it always helped to leave the bedroom after a particularly bad one—and prepare a midnight snack.

He sat the plate in front of Bucky, waiting for him to finally start eating to do the same. They don’t ask each other about the nature of their nightmares. It’s not like they have to anyway. They know. So when Bucky feels ready to talk, that’s not the subject he brings up.

“We should get a dog,” he suggests. 

Steve can’t think of a reason not to, so he nods.

“We should,” he agrees.

That’s how they find themselves in a shelter the next day, browsing around as a cheerful veterinarian walks them through the process of adoption. 

Steve smiles at the excited puppies yapping at them, but Bucky just frowns. 

“You sure we can handle that?” The man who was once the most feared assassin in the world asks, pointing guardedly at a tiny brown dog that’s practically vibrating with energy. And Steve’s mind goes to the potted plants he bought last week that are now in their living room. 

“Yeah, you’re right,” he says, grabbing Bucky’s hand and pulling him along.

They go all the way to the back of the shelter and suddenly Bucky halts, staring at a cage. Steve peers inside and finds a small, spotted, three-legged mutt, looking back at them with its one good eye.

The vet tells them the dog’s name is Lola and that she was abandoned. She’s been at the shelter for about six months and they think she’s around three or four years old.

“Hey, doll,” Bucky says fondly and Lola’s ears perk up at him. “Hi, hi,” he goes on as she takes a tentative step forward to sniff at his hand.

Steve’s heart expands inside his chest.

The vet lets them take Lola out of the cage, and, when she fills both their faces with kisses as he scratches behind her ear, Steve knows without a doubt that this is it. She’s going home with them.

\---

It takes some time until they’re both free, but at last, a couple of weeks after he and Bucky adopt Lola, both him and Clint are finally able to go out for the beers Steve offered back when he was still in the hospital. He invites Bucky to come along and Clint brings Nat and, the next thing he knows, their beers have been replaced by vodka and Steve ends up stumbling his way home, with Bucky supporting most of his weight, even though he’s not faring much better.

And if it takes them extra long to get home because, besides being a little past tipsy, they also keep stopping at every corner to make out like a couple of giggly teenagers, then well… at least the streets are empty this time of night, right?

\---

The following day, Steve’s on his way home from walking Lola around the block, when he catches sight of something on the newsstand which makes him halt. From the corner of his eye, he can see her cocking her head to give him an inquisitive look when he lets out a surprised laugh. 

“Just a sec, girl,” Steve mutters absently as they make their way over to the stand.

When he gets home, Steve lets Lola go and follows her into the living room to find Bucky, dozing off in front of the tv, like the old man he is. 

Steve approaches him quietly and bends down a little to run the fingers of his free hand through Bucky’s soft hair, scratching lightly at his scalp. The effect is immediate. Bucky groans, stretching out before finally blinking his eyes open. He offers Steve a lazy smile, and Steve can’t help himself, he bends a little further to plant a quick kiss on Bucky’s forehead before straightening back up.

“Hey.”

“Hi,” Bucky answers, halfway through a yawn. 

Steve sits down on the coffee table, his left arm still tucked behind him. He can’t keep the amusement off his face and it doesn’t take long for Bucky to notice.

“What?” He frowns at Steve as he sits up.

“Nothing,” Steve shrugs. “I was just thinking… remember when you said you never told me you loved me because it might affect my reputation or something?”

Bucky scoffs, crossing his arms over his chest. “Yeah,” he agrees. “Because it might’ve gotten you beaten to death? Because it was the fucking thirties?”

“Oh,” Steve lets out, feigning surprise, though it probably doesn’t look as innocent as he’d like, what with the smirk on his face. “That’s because it was the thirties? Huh. So,” he says, bringing his left hand forward to drop the tabloid on Bucky’s lap. “I guess this means that now it’s fair game.”

Bucky blinks at him for a moment before looking down to find a giant blurry picture of them covering the front page. Despite the poor resolution, there’s no mistaking the two of them, locked in what the headline describes as a _passionate kiss_. There’s also no mistaking Bucky’s metal hand on Steve’s butt.

“Oh, well,” Bucky says, looking back at Steve after staring at the picture for a moment. “At least you can hold your own in a fight now.” He shrugs nonchalantly.

Steve knows he’s teasing. He knows exactly what Bucky’s doing. And he falls for it, like he does every time. “Excuse you, I always could,” he shoots back, crossing his arms over his chest.

Bucky snorts, leaning forward to pat Steve’s knee. “Sure, pal.”

Steve uncrosses his arms to push him away, but Bucky moves faster than him, grabbing hold of Steve’s wrist and pulling him over to the couch. He ends up in a heap of limbs, half of his body on Bucky’s lap, their faces only a few centimeters apart. 

“Do you care?” Bucky asks him quietly. 

Their proximity short circuits Steve’s brain and it takes him a couple of seconds to realize Bucky’s talking about the tabloid picture, but when he does, he immediately shakes his head. “Not at all. You?”

“Do I look like somebody who can afford to care what people think of him?” He lightly knocks his forehead on Steve’s before leaning back. “I wouldn’t be able to leave the house if I did, Stevie.”

Steve hates the self-deprecating smile on Bucky’s lips, so he gives him a quick kiss to wipe it off. “You say that now, but,” he cocks an eyebrow, “remind me again which one of us spends half an hour in front of the mirror every day ‘til they get their hair right?”

He’s rewarded with a real smile, albeit an annoyed one.

He finds Bucky’s metal hand and brings it up to give it a kiss.

“I don’t care what anyone else thinks, and you shouldn’t either.”

“Cause you love me and that's all that matters?”

Steve shakes his head. “Cause they don’t know you, they haven’t been through what you’ve been through, and they don’t get to judge.”

Bucky softens like warm butter under him and Steve is so full of love he has to kiss him again, for much longer this time. He rearranges their position on the sofa until they’re both lying down, Steve on top of him.

“What do you say we put that picture up on the fridge,” Bucky suggests shily when they come up for air.

Steve considers it for a moment. Then he offers Bucky a mischievous grin. “What do you say we tweet it?”

\---

They end up, as the kids say, breaking the internet.

\---

“I don’t wanna go without you,” Steve complains.

“Tough shit, pal,” Bucky retorts. “Last I checked we were not, in fact, conjoined twins.”

Lola watches them, completely unimpressed, from her favorite spot on the couch.

“Buck,” Steve actually moans. He’s not proud of it. Bucky gives him a look. “I don’t like being away?” he tries, although it kind of sounds like a question.

“I don’t know what your shrink tells you, Stevie,” Bucky says. “But mine is always on and on about how codependence is a—”

“Bad habit, I know,” Steve completes. “Mine says that too. But you should take into consideration that we did have to spend a lifetime apart.”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “Literally neither one of us was aware of it for most of that time. Your _lifetime_ is probably more like five years or something.”

Steve frowns at him. “That ain’t long for you?”

Bucky’s face softens then. He gives Steve a small, sad smile. “An eternity.” Then he takes hold of Steve’s hand and plants a kiss on the back of it. “Still,” he says, letting go and patting Steve on the shoulder before pushing him out the door. “You’re doing this on your own.”

Steve takes a few steps and then stops to throw a glance back at Bucky. “I’ll miss you.”

“I’ll miss you too,” Bucky replies, amused. Steve presses the elevator button and the doors slide open just as Bucky adds, “those’ll be two very long minutes.”

With a snort, Steve enters the elevator and presses the button to the ground floor where the delivery guy’s waiting to hand him the three large pizzas he and Bucky are having for dinner tonight.

When he gets back, Steve opens the door to find Bucky down on one knee, holding up the little velvet box Steve was sure he had hidden so well.

“Buck… how… where... how did you…what?!!” He’s beyond words and he needs to rush to place the pizza boxes on the nearest surface before he drops them, because Steve’s suddenly shaking like a goddamn leaf.

Bucky grins at him, though it’s a bit wobbly. His right hand is not all that steady either, Steve notices. “Can’t hide anything from me, Stevie. Never could,” He winks cheekily.

Steve barks out a wet laugh, shaking his head. “I can’t believe you… I was going to—”

“You took too long,” Bucky cuts him. “Now, shut it, ‘cause my knees are literally begging me to stand up.” Steve snorts. They both know Bucky is fully capable of remaining still, keeping the same position for hours on end. He’s been good at that since before the war, had a lot of practice too, as Steve’s favorite subject. 

Nevertheless, Steve _does_ keep his mouth closed, feeling like he can barely breathe as he waits for Bucky to speak. Fortunately, he doesn’t have to wait long.

“I’ve loved you all my life,” Bucky goes on. “Loved you since we were little and I didn’t really know what it meant. I’ve loved you through sickness, through a war… loved you even when I didn’t know I had someone to love. You’re the best part of every memory I get back, Stevie.” He stops, sniffs. He’s almost crying and Steve’s not faring any better. “You bring me back from the darkness every time I’m sure I’m gonna slip under.” Bucky smiles sweetly at him, causing the tears that were threatening to spill to finally do. “I love waking up to find your face so close to mine,” he chuckles, “don’t even mind the bad breath no more.”

Steve shakes his head, mouthing the word _jerk_ because he’s beyond words now.

“I love going to sleep in your arms,” Bucky continues. “And I know we’re gonna do that for the rest of our lives already, but I want… _I want_ …” He’s losing his voice and he has to pause for a moment when it cracks. Steve waits. He would wait a thousand years if he had to. But as luck would have it, Bucky only needs a couple of seconds. “I know it’s probably vain as hell,” he says once he’s composed himself a little, “but I want the whole world to look at us and know we belong to each other. I want to call you my husband, Steve, because my whole life I thought I’d die without ever getting the chance to do that, and now that I can… I’m not gonna wait another second. We already lost so much time.”

Bucky takes hold of his hand, and Steve’s half afraid he might not hear his next words, what with how loud his heartbeat is in his ears.

“Marry me, Steven Grant Rogers,” Bucky says, his voice firmer than it’s been so far. “Marry me so I can call you my husband every day, for however long we end up living. Marry me so people can see this ring on your finger and know that nothing could ever keep us apart, and nothing ever will. Marry me, because I said to the end of the line, and I meant it.”

Steve blinks the blurriness away from his eyes until he can see Bucky’s own tear-streaked face clearly. He sniffs and clears his throat to try and find his voice.

“I would’ve married you if it was still illegal,” he says quietly, bringing his free hand to cup Bucky’s face. “I would’ve married you in the middle of the war as bombs fell around us. I would’ve married you on the fucking hellicarier.” It’s one of the most dramatic things he’s ever said, but thankfully, Steve can see on Bucky's face that he knows Steve means every word of it. “I would’ve married you anywhere, any time. It’s no different now.”

Bucky gives him a brilliant smile, which lights up his entire face even as he starts crying anew. He gets the ring from the box and starts to slip it on Steve’s shaky finger, but halts just before the knuckle. 

He looks up at Steve.

“Wait. Was that a yes?”

Steve raises an eyebrow. “Ask me again.”

Bucky chuckles wetly, but still humors him.

“Will you marry me, Stevie?” He asks with the special voice he’s only ever used for Steve.

Steve takes a deep breath, straightens his shoulders, and then, finally, nods.

“Yes.”

The ring fits perfectly around his finger and, a moment later, it’s the only thing Steve’s wearing.

**Author's Note:**

> This story has a [**playlist**](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4UzMfoOIPp9irglvf19tXb?si=ovZqV7KXQbOJpjCXphBCjA) which I fully recommend listening to while reading for maximum feels!
> 
> Come say hi on [**tumblr**](https://veronicafercard.tumblr.com/)


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